At Hogwarts
by Megan Lo Saurus
Summary: The Hetalia cast in a different yet familiar setting - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Contains FrUK, GiriTur, PruCan, Spamano, GerIta, and hints of Ameripan for the moment, possibly more pairings in future chapters. My apologies for the unoriginal title.
1. Chapter One

A/N - So I was just looking at the Pottermore website, weeping brokenly because I NEVER GOT THE EMAIL, and I thought, Hey, why not do something productive? Say, write some fanfic?

And this was born.

The first bit is italicised cause that WAS gonna be how I was gonna start it (seriously, I'd written like their first week at Hogwarts and everything) and then I suddenly realised… That would make them eleven… o w o

So, since eleven-year-olds and romance don't really mix, the italics-y bit became a time skip~ Just so you can see a bit of back-in-the-days Arthur :)

Oh, and one more thing. **Francis is NEW here; this is his FIRST DAY. **Hence Artie being all like wut?

And now that my ramblings are over, let us begin!

* * *

><p><em>Arthur Kirkland closed his eyes and charged forwards, bracing himself for an impact that never came.<em>

_When he cautiously opened his eyes, the empty grey concrete of platforms nine and ten of King's Cross Station had vanished._

_In front of him, the platform was teeming with people - some in the long robes of wizards and witches, others, like him, dressed in jeans and t-shirts, like - what was the word?_

_"Muggles," Tinkerbell chimed, flitting excitedly around his head._

_"Muggles," he breathed. The word tasted foreign, yet another part of this entirely new world that had suddenly opened up in front of Arthur. It was odd to think that the first eleven years of his life could be summed up in that one word._

_Because for the longest time, Arthur Kirkland had been nothing if not ordinary (aside from the ability to see and talk to fairies, of course). Up until the age of seven, he had lived in the London suburbs with two loving parents and a dog. There had been nothing in the history of his family to suggest anything more than a tendency towards being 'a maverick' or 'eccentric'._

_Yet here he was, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, the Hogwarts Express hooting and hissing steam in front of him, about to go to school at what was (according to Tink) one of the best schools for Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_A bell clattered loudly, interrupting his reverie. Flying Mint Bunny nudged him softly, and he patted her. It was time to go._

_Heaving his trunk off the trolley, Arthur hurried onto the crimson train towards an uncertain future._

* * *

><p>It was odd, the way even after so long some things would never change.<p>

Arthur was standing on platform nine and three-quarters, lost in memories of his past. It felt like mere days ago when he'd stepped onto the platform for the first time. Sixteen now - he wouldn't be at Hogwarts much longer.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him round, nearly knocking him over. It was Gil, Arthur's first real friend. As a muggle, Arthur had been ostracised for his ability to see creatures that weren't supposed to exist. He'd presumed it was a wizard thing, but not long after arriving at Hogwarts, he'd discovered that even among wizards the trait was… Strange.

Arthur had been terrified that he'd be rejected again, and for a while the students did steer clear of him, darting the occasional odd glance.

Gil had been the one to end that. As soon as he'd found out, he'd come up to Arthur, crimson eyes wide with awe. "Wait a second, wait a second. You're the one who sees invisible stuff, yeah?"

Arthur had nodded stiffly.

"And they talk to you? The invisible things?"

Another nod.

"Dude, that's so freaking awesome!" Gil crowed. "You can totally use that to cheat on tests!"

They'd been the best of friends from that moment on.

"Hey, Earth to Artie! Christ, you haven't grown at all over the summer, have you?" Gil grinned.

Arthur punched him.

"How've you been? Long time no see, huh?"

"Those were the days. I'm stuck with you for - how long now? The whole year?" Arthur teased.

"Guess again, my shrimpy friend. Going back home over Christmas, gonna try see my folks."

"I thought the whole point of running away from home was not to go back?" Arthur said suspiciously. Ever since First Year, Gil had proudly claimed to have run away from home, but no one had been sure whether he'd been lying or telling the truth.

Gil just grinned mysteriously. "Come on, let's get on the train. At this rate it'll leave without us again, and you know how pissy you got last time!"

Arthur shuddered and shoved all thoughts of that experience to the back of his mind. He followed Gil onto the train. They sat down with Elizabeta and Roderich, and Arthur rejoiced inwardly - it meant that Arthur had a good chance of quietly napping while Gil set to arguing with one or both of their fellow passengers.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes when the first insult was tossed out, and Arthur settled down to sleep.

He was woken by Elizabeta shaking him awake. "Arthur, can we go find the trolley? I'm starving, and those two aren't going to let up for a while," She gestured towards Gil and Roderich, who were still arguing happily.

"Sure, let's go."

They slipped out and started to make their way along the train. Before they were even halfway, they were stopped by some people blocking the aisle.

A boy stood in their way, his back to Arthur and Elizabeta. He was tall, with pale gold hair that brushed the nape of his neck. In front of him was a very pretty girl - Arthur recognised her as one of the Gryffindor beaters - who was pleading with the boy with tears in her eyes.

"Um…"

Hearing Arthur, the boy whirled around and looked him up and down, a calculating look in his eyes.

Then he grabbed Arthur's collar, pulled him forwards and kissed him full on the mouth.

Arthur froze in shock. _What on earth…?_

After a good few seconds, the stranger pulled back and turned to face the girl, as if he'd done nothing wrong.

_"Désolé, cherie,_ but as you can see we may never be together," he said regretfully.

Recovered enough to form a coherent sentence, Arthur burst out, "What in the name of -"

Before he could finish his sentence, the stranger had yanked him close again, murmuring, "If you don't shut up and play along I'll have to kiss you again. _Or worse," _he added threateningly. _"D'accord?"_

Arthur nodded mutely. He grabbed the stranger's hand and intertwined their fingers, lifting their joined hands to show the girl. "Sorry," he said feebly.

She took one look and ran off sobbing.

Arthur snatched back his hand. Beside him the boy let out a sigh of relief.

"What in the name of arse was all that about?" Arthur said furiously. "You can't just treat a girl like that!"

"Ah, I'm sorry." The stranger smiled disarmingly and offered his hand for Arthur to shake. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy. Nice to meet you." His voice was heavily accented and dripped charm like honey.

Automatically, Arthur took the proffered hand. "Arthur Kirkland, how do you do?" He caught himself suddenly. "No, I mean, what? That poor girl!"

"Oh, you mean Mindy? She's fine." Francis said airily. "She just didn't understand the word _non."_

Arthur frowned. He shouldn't just brush the girl off so casually. "Maybe if you explained to her in English rather than that idiotic croaking you cretins call French, she'd understand without you having to molest strangers." He said coldly. His spine prickled; Francis was similar to _her_. To Marie. She was French, too; she liked leading people on, too.

Francis smiled, catlike. "Oh, I'm quite happy with the way things turned out, _cher."_

There was a sigh from behind Arthur, and he turned to see Elizabeta with a dreamy look in her eyes. He frowned and glanced warily at the stranger. Elizabeta was normally so down to earth; the stupid Frog couldn't have done something to her, could he?

Elizabeta's gaze was directed at a camera she held in her hands. Arthur felt his blood turn to ice. _Please God no…_

Hardly daring to think about it, Arthur peered over Elizabeta's shoulder at the screen, and his worst nightmares were confirmed.

Elizabeta had somehow managed to take a photo of Arthur and that damn Frog _kissing_.

He snatched at the camera and frantically tried to delete it. _Are you sure you want to erase this photo? _But before he could press confirm, Elizabeta said threateningly, "Put down the camera."

Somehow, she'd managed to pull out a saucepan. It was hovering just inches from Arthur's temple. He could either delete the photo and become the first person murdered by saucepan, or live with the humiliation of knowing there was evidence that he'd been kissed by a _guy_.

Arthur chose life.

Heart heavy, he handed over the camera.

He suddenly remembered whose fault this was. Seething with anger, Arthur spun round, ready to Transfigure the stranger into a frog.

He'd disappeared already, the twat. Sighing, Arthur headed back to the others. Behind him, Elizabeta was humming happily.

_Could the day get any worse?_

* * *

><p>Arthur retreated to the library as soon as it grew dark.<p>

He made a beeline for the Restricted Section, flicking his wand to set up wards that would warn him when someone approached.

Arthur was just reaching for a book when one of the wards went off. _Filch?_ He wondered, hoping against hope that it was one of the more lenient professors. Pressing himself into a corner where the shadows lay deepest, he waited, holding his breath.

It was the stranger from the train. Arthur let out a sigh of relief. The other boy spun round immediately, wand raised and glowing at the tip.

Stepping forward slightly, Arthur pulled out his own wand. "Lumos," He whispered, directing the light so that it shone on his face. There was no point bothering to hide.

"Arthur Kirkland, _oui?"_ The boy said. A predatory smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

Arthur stayed silent. What was the damn Frog's name again?

The other boy's smirk only widened. "Francis. We met on the train, _tu te souviens?"_

"Yes, I remember perfectly. You're the obnoxious one, aren't you?"

Francis grinned as if he'd received a compliment and ran one finger along the dusty shelves. "You're a Ravenclaw, then? I didn't know Ravenclaws had a penchant for rule-breaking."

"Since when are stereotypes universal?" Arthur said through gritted teeth. "Which unlucky house got you, then?"

"Slytherin," Francis said. He paused. "Though I'm starting to wish I'd chosen the other way, knowing Ravenclaw has people like you in it." He winked.

"The Sorting Hat gave you a choice?"

Francis nodded. "I thought Ravenclaw was the dull, studious house, so I opted for Slytherin."

"I thought that Slytherin was the cowardly, manipulative house, so I opted for Ravenclaw." Arthur snapped, the words pouring out before he'd thought them through.

Francis raised an eyebrow elegantly. "Oh?"

Arthur cursed inwardly. He hadn't meant to tell anyone that, and now here he was, blurting it out to some idiotic French boy. "Tell Gil - tell _anyone_ - and so help me I will Transfigure you into a frog."

Francis smirked. "Don't worry,_ mon cher,_ I'd _much_ rather have blackmail material over you."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "So do you want to leave, or shall I?"

Francis went on unfazed. "You really should have gone for Slytherin, though. That emerald green would look stunning on you. Bring out the colour of your eyes."

Arthur was opening his mouth to reply when he felt the prickle of his wards. It looked like he wasn't going to get any reading in for a while. Dismantling the wards with another flick of his wand, he turned to go back in the direction of the main library, hoping he could slip past whoever it was while they were distracted by telling off Francis.

Unfortunately, when Arthur left the library he could hear Mrs Norris miaowing from her post at the top of the hallway. There was no way he'd be able to sneak past her unnoticed - the thing was the devil incarnate, Arthur knew from experience. He pressed into an alcove, deciding to risk his chances with Filch rather than the infernal feline.

Moments later, Filch strode past, muttering to himself. "Come on, my poppet," he called to Mrs Norris.

Arthur waited until the footsteps had recided before jumping out of the alcove, blowing out a breath of relief.

Immediately, an arm circled round his waist. Before he knew what had happened Arthur was pressed against the rough stone wall, Francis' arms on either side of him so that he couldn't escape.

"What -" he started furiously.

Francis pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. _"Idiot!_ If Filch hears us and comes back, we're both screwed!"

There was a thud in the distance and they both strained to listen. When he was satisfied that Filch wasn't coming back, Arthur turned to glare at Francis. "Can I go now?"

Francis ignored him. "Back in the library, you were hoping Filch would catch me so that you could slip past unnoticed. _N'est pas?"_

Arthur bit his lip.

A smile tugged at Francis' lips; he looked like the cat that caught the cream. "You've shown me your Slytherin nature; now it's time for me to show you mine," He murmured, low voice sending shivers skating across Arthur's skin. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to will his heartbeat into submission.

His eyes flew open when Francis touched his face gently. For a moment, they stared at each other. Francis' blue eyes were immeasurable in the darkness.

Ever so slowly, as if trying not to scare him, Francis inched closer.

Arthur tried to force himself to move, but he was frozen, every fibre of his being tense and expectant. Paralysed, he stood still as Francis' lips moved closer and closer and…

Stopped.

They were so close that their breath mingled. Neither of them moved, Arthur waiting for Francis, Francis waiting for… Who knew?

Finally, Francis stepped back, twirling something between his fingers. Before Arthur could make out what it was he had turned and vanished into the unlit corridor.

Leaving Arthur flushed and confused and wondering what on Earth had just happened.

* * *

><p>It wasn"t until later when he reached for his wand that he discovered he had been robbed.<p>

He unfolded the scrappy piece of paper to read the message inscribed in curling script.

_If you want it back, come to the library tomorrow morning, 8 o'clock._

* * *

><p>In the end, Arthur ignored the note.<p>

Admittedly, it'd be troublesome not to have his wand, not to mention how weird it was to be without it, but the thought of Francis waiting for someone who never came was satisfying enough to outweigh the downsides.

Instead he went to the Quidditch pitch and found the Gryffindor seeker, an American called Alfred who had inexplicably decided to hero-worship Arthur because he had, once upon a time, been a decent beater.

Arthur didn't really care, but he and Al had become good friends. More importantly, Al was someone Arthur trusted not to mock him if he explained what had happened.

"What's up Artie?" Al grinned, tousling his hair. "How's the new year treating ya?"

Arthur sighed. "Don't remind me. Do you know Francis?"

Al frowned. "Yeah, he's Mattie's cousin or something. Why?"

"He's stolen my wand."

"What? How?"

Arthur explained, glossing over some of the details. "He said he'd return it to me this morning, but I didn't want to get it back on his terms. Could I borrow your wand, just for half an hour?"

"Sure thing, Artie!" Al grinned. 'In exchange, could you, um, could you do me a favour?" He hedged.

"Yeah, course. What do you need?"

_"Could you possibly ask Kiku whether he'd mind tutoring me again like last year?"_

Arthur took a moment to decipher the rush of words. "Oh, sure. What's he helping you with?"

Al mumbled something.

"Huh?"

"I said, Charms."

Arthur did a double take. "Charms?" He'd been in Al's class for the first few years, so he knew for a fact that Charms, along with Quidditch, was Al's best subject. "But Al, you're _brilliant_ at Charms! He could probably learn something from you!"

"Yeah well, he doesn't know that does he? Charms is the only lesson we have together, OK?" Al said, taking off and putting back on his glasses. He only did that when he was embarrassed…

Arthur fought down a laugh. Al was such a child, really. "I'll tell him," he said soothingly.

"Thanks Artie!' Al said brightly. "Here ya go." He drew his wand out of his robes and tossed it to Arthur. "I better get back to practice. See ya, then!"

"Bye, Al," Arthur said. He shook his head in amusement. In all the time they'd known each other, Al hadn't changed a bit.

Concealing Al's wand within his robes, Arthur headed back towards Hogwarts. It was time to get his revenge on Francis.

* * *

><p>AN - Thanks for reading! Feel free to review :)


	2. Chapter Two

Francis had been raised by one of the French pureblood families. From a young age he'd been educated in how to act - not just manners, but how to read people like an open book. It meant that most people irritated Francis. He could see their intentions through whatever smokescreen of lies they put up.

In the end he'd got so sick of it that he'd agreed to move to England, figuring that even if the people were just as two-faced as at his old school, it'd at least be interesting to have a change.

It was one of the better decisions Francis had made in his life.

He'd arrived at England in late August (the weather was absolutely dire, he noted gloomily) and things had almost immediately started looking up.

In Diagon Alley, he'd met Antonio for the first time in almost ten years. He, Antonio, and another boy named Gilbert ("But you can just call me 'Awesome'") had played with each other when they were children. Francis had lost touch with them when his family had abruptly taken him back to France.

And then he'd arrived at Hogwarts and met Arthur.

Arthur, who was completely unlike anyone else. Arthur, who he couldn't read at all. It was as if Arthur could read Francis' mind, find out what Francis thought he would do, and then go and do the exact opposite.

Like not bothering to come and get back his wand. Francis had waited until quarter past eight before giving up and making his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He sat down beside Gil at the Slytherin table, toying with his pancakes and trying to subtly keep an eye on the Ravenclaw table and Arthur.

"Gil, what can you tell me about your friend Arthur?" Francis asked nonchalantly.

Gil put down his fork and shot him a look that plainly said, _I know what you're thinking and it's fucking hilarious._ "What do you want to know?"

Francis shrugged.

Gil frowned thoughtfully. "Artie is… A contradiction. He's one of the most talented wizards I've ever met, and he comes from a completely muggle background. He was on the Quidditch team for a year - the best beater Ravenclaw's ever seen - until he quit because, and I quote, 'Knitting is so much more interesting.'" Gil threw Francis a look to emphasise how insane that was.

"Anything else?" Francis asked.

"He loves Firewhisky, and he'll happily get drunk as a skunk - which, let me tell you, is hilarious - but on Sundays he religiously has tea with Kiku at four o'clock. And," Gil grinned knowingly, "He's the only Ravenclaw I know that'd blow off studying to prank one of the professors."

"How long have you known him for?"

"Since First Year. He's a good guy, if that's what you're wondering. Just very…_English."_

"How so?" Francis asked.

"He's the sort of person who dislikes you until he decides he likes you, you know? I mean, he won't be friendly until he's worked out what sort of person you are, and decided that you're not bad. Also, he's not very upfront about emotions," Gil said meaningfully.

Francis nodded. "Thanks."

Across the table, a girl giggled and elbowed her neighbour. Francis recognised her; she'd been the one with Arthur on the train. _"Bonsoir, mademoiselle. _I don't believe we've been introduced?"

She smiled, dimpling cutely. "Elizabeta. You're Francis, right?"

"You remembered? I'm flattered."

She nodded and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "So you like Arthur, then?"

It took all of Francis' willpower not to recoil in horror. There was no _way_ he liked Arthur! He was just interested in him. _"Mais non! _I think he is an interesting person, but I am all for the ladies." He winked at the girl next to Elizabeta, who giggled and looked away.

Elizabeta wasn't impressed. "I have a very nice photograph that says otherwise."

"What?" Gil said, eyes suddenly sparking with interest.

She rummaged inside her bag and drew out a photograph, handing it to Gil.

"That's - that's a very good angle," Gil said, choking down a laugh.

"And another one," Elizabeta said proudly.

Francis snatched them out of her grasp. The first showed him and Arthur kissing, and the second was of a beet red Arthur grabbing Francis' hand and showing Mindy their entwined fingers.

Blushing, Francis tapped the photos with his wand._ "Incendio."_

Elizabeta just grinned. "Those were just copies."

Gil burst out laughing. "Schieße, Lizbet, you gotta give me a copy for blackmail!' He wheezed. "Artie'd do anything if he knew I had something like this!"

"They're for sale," her neighbour said proudly. "It's a galleon for one, only fourteen sickles more if you buy both together." Her blond hair was cut in a chin-length bob, and she was wearing a blue ribbon - she couldn't have been older than fourteen, and she was already selling compromising photos of other students?

Gil pouted. "Don't I get a reduction? C'mon, Lizbet, how long have we been friends for?"

Elizabeta laughed. "For you, its two sickles more."

"But Liiiiizbet!"

While they were arguing, Francis saw Arthur stand up and start making his way out of the hall. Quickly excusing himself Francis leapt up to follow him.

* * *

><p>By the time Francis had managed to make his way out of the Great Hall, Arthur was long gone. He'd had to give up and wander back to the common room.<p>

Reaching into his pocket, he took out Arthur's wand and his own, spinning them absently.

"'Francis?"

A sugary voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Francis had almost forgotten about Rebecca - he'd started flirting with her because he'd been bored, and now she kept bugging him.

_"Oui?'"_He said, forcing a smile.

"I was just wondering…" She paused, playing with a strand of honey blonde hair. Francis only half took notice. By the portrait hole was Arthur, talking to some Third Year Slytherin. _What was Arthur doing in the Slytherin common room?_

Not noticing Francis' lack of attention, Rebecca carried on speaking. "Would you…?"

Arthur had finished with the Third Year and was turning to leave. His eyes caught Francis' gaze. For a second he stared back challengingly._ "Excusez-moi,_ Rebecca." Francis gently pushed past her to follow Arthur out of the common room.

He reached Arthur on the stairs, catching his arm to get his attention. _"Salut, mon petit. Ça va?"_

Arthur yanked his arm away and kept walking. He waited for Francis to fall into step with him before speaking. "Are you going to give me my wand?"

"Ah, you mean this?" Francis reached inside his robes and took out Arthur's wand, holding it just out of his reach. "It's a nice wand. Ten inches, elm, with a dragon's heartstring core. Am I right?"

"Who told you?" Arthur asked stonily.

"What, I can't know any wandlore of my own?" Francis said with mock hurt.

Arthur sighed. "Are you going to give it back or not?"

"I think I will. At a price, of course. I will give back your wand in exchange for a kiss." He grinned at Arthur's expression. "You can't have thought I wouldn't charge interest? It is now… Quarter to nine. You're forty-five minutes late, _cher."_

"Why the fuck would you want that?" Arthur spat.

Francis shrugged. "You have the most extraordinary colour eyes," he said. It was true - Arthur's eyes were emerald green, like a cat's - but it wasn't the reason.

"Expelliarmus!" The wand flew out of Francis' hand and Arthur caught it. He smirked.

That _had_ been unexpected. Francis grinned quickly. "Well played, mon cher."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement before turning and sashaying up the stairs, self-satisfaction clear in every movement, every line of his body. Francis watched him go, wrapped in thought. Of all the things Francis had expected, that had not been one of them. When was the last time someone had one-upped him?

He'd always been the one in control of that sort of situation. And yet he'd been beaten at his own game by an uppity English boy with overgrown eyebrows.

Arthur Kirkland… He really was unpredictable.

* * *

><p>Francis' first lesson was Potions, and his professor was not pleased when he and Gil arrived five minutes late. "This guy's a <em>nutjob,"<em> Gil said, in a conspiratorial whisper that easily carried across the room. Francis wasn't sure how to reply - on the one hand, Gil was probably right - the professor's blond hair was far too long to be fashionable, and that _braid_ - but on the other, the guy looked like he was perfectly capable of running both of them through without a second's hesitation.

The professor narrowed his eyes. 'Gilbert Beilschmidt, if you do not wish to find yourself in detention on your first day of the academic year, I suggest you - and your friend - find a seat very quickly and _shut up.'_

Gil lifted his hand in a mock salute. "Sir, yes sir!" He made a beeline for an empty desk behind Arthur, who was sitting next to Elizabeta and seemed to be desperately pleading with her over something. (Francis made a note to ask Elizabeta what it was later on.) "Professor Alaric's bark is worse than his bite," Gil grinned.

"As I was saying, you are going to be making a sleeping draught. It should be powerful enough to knock out a grown man at a 100:1 dilution. Now, partner up and begin. Oh, and Beilschmidt?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you mean 'Yes, sir.' You are to work with Héderváry, as she seems to be the only one capable of keeping you under control. Miss Héderváry, you are fully authorised to use force if needs be," he said meaningfully.

Gil groaned. "Sorry, Franny. I guess I'm gonna be with the She-Devil."

"You can work with me," Said a sultry voice. A shiver of fear ran down Francis' spine, and he turned to see Rebecca. There was no way he was going to be stuck with her. He raised his hand. "Excusez-moi, professeur. I'm new here," he said, smiling charmingly. The professor just glared at him icily. "I was wondering if I could be paired with - with whoever is best at Potions? The French system is quite different, so it might be difficult for me."

Professor Alaric frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose you have a point. Kirkland!"

Francis tried not to grin. He could hardly believe his luck as Arthur reluctantly said, "Yes, sir?"

"With the French boy."

"But -"

"No buts, Mr Kirkland, now move." The professor snapped his fingers and turned back to the blackboard.

Arthur sullenly picked up his books, dumping them on Francis' desk with a thud. "If you mess this up," he hissed, "I swear to God I will _reducio_ your -"

"No threatening the other students, Kirkland; five points from Ravenclaw should you choose to finish that sentence."

Arthur scowled but said nothing.

"Shall we start then?" Francis said sweetly.

Muttering under his breath, Arthur snatched up a wickedly sharp knife and set to chopping roots with a vengeance.

Arthur seemed to calm down somewhat once they had finished preparing the ingredients. He looked over Francis' work with an almost approving expression. "Not bad work, for a Frog," he said grudgingly. When the two of them finished preparing the potion at record speed, he seemed stuck between anger and approval. "I thought you were bad at potions."

_"Moi?"_ Francis said, widening his eyes. _"Pas du tout._ Whatever gave you that impression? It's exactly like cooking, and France is renowned for its cuisine."

Arthur looked away awkwardly. "It's not that similar to cooking. Besides, I think you mean notorious. What sort of idiots eat _snails_ or _frogs' legs?"_

"Ah,_ mon cher,_ you have clearly never tried true French cuisine."

"You two have finished, then?" Alaric interrupted. They both nodded, and he looked approvingly at the contents of their cauldron. "Hmm, good colour, texture seems accurate. Not too much bubbling - this is good work."

"Francis is excellent at Potions," Arthur said hastily. "I think he'd do perfectly well on his own."

"You flatter me, _cher_. If it hadn't been for Arthur's teaching, Professor, I would have been completely lost this lesson."

Alaric looked at the potion, and then back to Francis and Arthur. "You two work together well, and it's obvious that you get on with each other. You'll stay partners for the rest of the term."

"Brilliant," Arthur said weakly.

Francis grinned. He was going to like this lesson.

* * *

><p>Francis' next lesson was Transfiguration, and not only were Gilbert and Antonio there, but Arthur too, who frowned angrily at seeing Francis and went to sit next to an equally furious looking boy. "That's Lovi," Antonio supplied dreamily. "Isn't he cute?"<p>

Francis nodded obligingly. "Are you two together?"

Antonio sighed. _"Desafortunadamente,_ no. We've been neighbours since Lovi was five, and I think that's the only reason he's still friends with me. For old times' sake. And because he's so overprotective of his twin Feli." He grinned. "For some reason, Lovi thinks I like Feli."

Francis snorted. "Don't be stupid, Tonio. People aren't just friends because of that. Of course Lovi likes you!"

"You think?" Antonio brightened up immediately.

_"Bien sûr!"_

"Mr Carriedo, you may be in my house but that doesn't mean I won't deduct points if you don't start paying attention in my lesson."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Antonio said meekly.

"As for you, Mr Bonnefoy, it may be your first day but that is no reason for shirking. Is that clear?"

"Yes, professor."

* * *

><p>At the end of the lesson, Professor McGonagall asked Francis and, surprisingly, Arthur, to stay a few minutes after class.<p>

"Now, it has come to my attention that the two of you are doing very similar subjects. I believe you are doing Potions, Transfiguration, Astronomy, and Herbology. Mr Bonnefoy is doing the same, with the exception of Charms instead of Herbology. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Professor." Francis said. Arthur nodded warily.

"Professor Alaric has drawn to my attention that the two of you work together very well. Since Mr Bonnefoy has only recently come to England, I think it would be a good idea for someone to show him the ropes, maybe give a few extra classes to ensure that he isn't left floundering. Considering your similar subjects, Mr Kirkland seems to be the best option."

From Arthur's expression, you'd think McGonagall had told him that she'd murdered his parents. Francis took his chance while Arthur was still immobilised with horror. _"Merci,_ professor, that sounds great."

"Good. You are dismissed, then." McGonagall said, picking up a quill and returning to her work.

Arthur blinked out of his paralysis and opened his mouth to complain. He seemed to think better of it, though, and settled for throwing Francis a look of such unadulterated fury that Francis almost shivered in fear. _Arthur would have made an excellent pirate,_ he mused.

It was lunchtime now, so Francis followed Arthur to the Great Hall. They walked in silence. Arthur strode ahead, still simmering with rage, and it wasn't long before Francis began to feel ashamed. Teasing Arthur was fun, but he hadn't meant to take it this far. Plus, he definitely didn't want Arthur to hate him.

"Arthur?"

"What." Arthur snapped, not slowing down.

_"Je suis desolé,"_ Francis said.

Arthur stopped so abruptly that Francis almost tripped over him.

"I'm sorry," Francis repeated, realising that apologising in a language Arthur didn't understand probably wasn't very helpful.

Arthur turned to face Francis, green eyes wide. For a moment he just stared silently, then he blinked and said, "For what? General rudeness, stealing my wand, attempting coercion or -" he looked around furtively and whispered, _"molesting _me?"

"All of them. Even though the last was very enjoyable. And I won't force you to spend time giving me extra lessons if you don't want to - but I do want to work with you in Potions."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, making it look even more tousled (previously Francis hadn't realised this was possible). "I'm sorry too. Not very sorry, because most of the time you were to blame, but I guess I overreacted. Let's just start again, yeah?"

"Alright. _Bonjour,_ my name is Francis Bonnefoy. I just arrived here from France, so I hope you'll forgive me if I seem rude."

Arthur laughed, and something inside Francis flipped. "I didn't mean literally, but I guess…" He held out his hand. "Hi, Francis. I'm Arthur Kirkland. I can be cantankerous, so I hope you'll forgive me if I seem grumpy."

They shook, and Arthur's hand was warm in his own.

"We should get going. We'll end up with no lunch at all if we keep dawdling!" Arthur grinned. They kept walking. "France, huh? Must've sucked coming here to all these rainclouds. I bet you miss the sun," he said wistfully.

Francis laughed. They chatted the rest of the way, and Arthur looked almost sorry to have to join the Ravenclaw table. "Well, this is my stop," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

_"Oui,_ if not before," Francis winked. Arthur blushed and sat down.

_Yep,_ Francis mused, _apologising had definitely been the right thing to do._

* * *

><p>Feel free to review :) (hint hint)<p> 


	3. Chapter Three

Arthur yanked his arm back, narrowly escaping being savaged by the Snargaluff's thorny vines.

"Did you get it?" Matthew asked anxiously.

Arthur brandished the green pod triumphantly. He and Matthew each let out a long sigh of relief and sank back into their chairs, keeping a wary eye on the innocent-looking stump. Now that his life wasn't in imminent danger, Arthur stared at Matthew thoughtfully. Then he burst out suddenly, "Are you two even related?"

Matthew frowned. "Um… Sorry?"

"You and Francis. Al said you're cousins, or something. But that's just ridiculous!"

"Um, no, he's right."

Arthur scrunched up his face. "But… You're so different! He's all obnoxious and stuff, and you're the sweet quiet one!"

"Maybe… That's a bit harsh of you, possibly?" Matthew said falteringly.

Arthur's mouth fell open in surprise. Matthew hardly ever contradicted anyone! "You think Francis _isn't_ obnoxious?"

"Oh, no, he's definitely obnoxious. But he's sweet too, isn't he?"

Arthur shook his head vehemently.

"Then… Why are you friends with him?"

Arthur backpedalled so fast that he nearly hit the Snargaluff. "What do you mean,_ friends?_ We're not friends. I'm friends with Gil, and he's friends with Gil, so we have to be _civil_ to each other. We aren't friends, though! Not by any stretch of the imagination."

Matthew blinked. "You have to be civil, not friendly. You and Francis spend far too much time together to be acquaintances."

"We only spend time together because we share so many classes, and Professor McGonagall made me promise to help him. I definitely do not like him. For example, did I tell you what he did yesterday?"

"No. What?" Matthew asked dutifully.

Arthur scowled into the distance. "Well, you know how Liza got those - those images? I say images rather than photos because they were most definitely _doctored."_

Matthew nodded, and Arthur pretended not to see the faint trace of a smile. "Yeah, I think everyone saw that, Arthur."

Unfortunately, Matthew was right. Elizabeta had made a tidy sum by selling the photos - a disturbing number of students had wanted to see the Ravenclaw prefect and the good-looking foreigner in such a compromising position. Even Gil, damn him, had one of the photos, which he'd whip out whenever Arthur was "getting too smug".

"Anyway, for the past few weeks Liza has been following us around, not even bothering to hide her camera. She even offered to give us 30% of the profit each, if we modelled for her."

By this point, Matthew was obviously trying very hard not to laugh. Arthur glared at him and went on. "Yesterday, Francis and I were talking - _not because we're friends _- and she came up to us again. Francis asked if she'd go away once she had her photo, and she said yes. So Francis told her to get her camera ready, and then he damn well kissed me - _again!"_

"Was it nice?" Matthew said blithely.

"Well, yes -" Arthur started, taken aback. "I mean, no! That's not the point! The point is the fact that he _kissed_ me, not whether or not it was a good kiss. He can't just get the idea that it's alright to go around kissing whoever he wants -"

"So you're objecting not to the kiss, but to the possibility of him kissing someone else?"

"Oh bloody hell, Matthew! That's not fair, you're twisting it!" Arthur pouted.

Matthew laughed. "Francis is a flirt, but he's not a bad person. When I was little, I used to get so pissed off because people never noticed I was there. Not even Al. He used to wake up in the night and start crying because he thought I was gone, when I was right next to him all along! Francis was the only one who could always see me."

Arthur blinked in surprise. He'd never expected to hear so many words from Matthew, of all people. "Oh…"

Matthew seemed to have used up his quota of speech for the day. He nodded quietly and started to work on the essay Professor Longbottom had set.

"OK. Right then." Arthur reached for his quill and parchment. "Well, thats… Right."

He shook himself, unfurled the parchment and began writing.

* * *

><p>Once Herbology had ended, Arthur immediately made his way to the Quidditch pitch. A practice match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was soon to start, and Arthur wanted to get there early to talk to Al, who was Gryffindor seeker.<p>

"Hey, Artie! How've you been?" Al said cheerfully, reaching out to tousle Arthur's hair.

Arthur batted his hand away. "Twat. I've been good, thanks. You?"

"Not bad. What are you doing down here?"

"I would've thought it's pretty obvious, Al. I'm here to wish you luck. You're playing Slytherin, right?"

"Yup. We'll beat them for sure, the slimy buggers," Al said cheerfully. "Thanks, Artie! Are you gonna be cheering Gryffindor, then?"

"Of course. Francis has been jabbering on about it for ages, there's no _way_ I'd support his team."

Al laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, for someone who says he hates Francis, you sure go on about him a lot!"

"I most certainly do not go on about him." Arthur sniffed indignantly. "I occasionally rant about him, and sometimes I eloquently express my opinions on his shortcomings - of which there are many. Honestly, how can one person be so -"

Arthur's tirade was interrupted by Al unsuccessfully stifling a laugh. "Pfft._ 'Rem ipse loquitur'_."

"Huh. Latin? Kiku must be a good influence on you." Arthur said. "Oh, that reminds me, if Liza tries to sell you any more photos, _they are not real_, OK? Francis was being a jerk."

"I'm sure." Al said doubtfully.

Before Arthur could reply, Herakles pushed past, closely followed by Sadiq. Sadiq seemed to be trying to apologise, while Herakles was ignoring him and yelling insults. "Fuck you, _golopetho!"_ (Golopetho = ass-child (lit.), brat.)

Sadiq stopped suddenly and glared at Herakles' retreating back. _"Gatune koyarim, zonta!"_ (Up yours, ill-mannered person!)

Herakles didn't even turn around. _"Fae skata kai psofa!"_ (Eat shit and die!)

Sadiq growled. When Herakles turned the corner, he turned to Al and Arthur. "Sorry about that," he said. "I think he's pissed at me."

Al blinked. "No freaking duh! Aren't you gonna follow him?"

"I suppose so," Sadiq sighed, tugging a hand through his hair. "See you at the match!" And with that, he jogged off after Herakles.

Al shook his head wonderingly. "And to think they're such a good team on the pitch. So Artie, what were you saying?"

"The ph - Actually, it doesn't really matter."

"Knowing you, it was probably about Francis. You know, those two are kinda like you and Francis," Al said thoughtfully.

Arthur did a double take. "What? How?"

"They're best friends, but with the amount of arguing they do you'd think they hated each other."

Arthur sighed. Everyone knew that Al was dense, but this was taking it to new heights. "Uh, Al, there's no question about it - those two loathe each other with a hatred that burns hotter than a thousand suns."

"Nope. There's no way they could hate each other but have such good teamwork," Al said obstinately.

"Speaking of which, what time is it? Is it OK for the two of them to bugger off so soon before the match?"

Al waved his hand and said airily, "Oh, it's fine. They'll be back in time. 'Sides, it's not like they can disqualify us for tardiness." He glanced at Arthur suddenly, panicked. "They can't, right?"

"You tell me, I haven't played Quidditch for ages. I can barely remember the rules."

There was a yell from somewhere behind them, and Arthur stiffened in recognition. They turned to see Gil running towards them, broom in hand, cheekbones streaked with green and silver warpaint. "Hey, Al, ready to get your ass kicked?" He grinned, holding his hand out to Arthur for a high five.

Arthur stared at him and shook his head. "I'm guessing the adrenaline rush started early for you, then?"

Gil whooped and veered off, holding his arms out like wings. "I'm flying already! Come, Gilbird. Together we shall rule this pitch!" He cackled maniacally and disappeared behind the already crowded stands.

"I'd better go make sure he's OK," Arthur said. "Good luck, Al!"

He jogged across the pitch to where he'd last seen Gil, behind the blue and bronze chequer of the Ravenclaw stands. There was no sign of him, and Arthur was about to turn back when he heard a moan. Gil couldn't have hurt himself, could he? Worried, Arthur stepped round to double check for his friend.

"Gil? Are you…? Oh."

The noise hadn't been from Gil, but from one of the Slytherin chasers, with whom Francis was currently sucking face. The couple broke apart guiltily when they noticed Arthur.

"Oh." Arthur repeated. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll just… I'll just go over there." He stumbled back awkwardly, face flaming.

Without even sparing a look at the girl, Francis followed Arthur. "Wait, Arthur… Sorry about that."

"Sorry? Why should you be? I should be the one to apologise - I didn't mean to get in the way. Sorry. Have you seen Gil? I was looking for him. I didn't mean to interrupt." Arthur babbled. There was a painful tightening in his chest, and he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Arthur, don't worry about it. Me and her - we're not, _together_ or anything. It was just a kiss, _tu sais?"_ Francis smiled, brushing back Arthur's hair. The feeling sent electricity tingling through Arthur's spine, and he shivered and batted Francis' hand away, more confused than ever.

He felt a flash of irritation. He was right; Francis was exactly like Marie. Never serious, flirting and breaking hearts like no one else mattered. "No, Francis. No, I _don't_ know. It's not 'just a kiss' - not to her at least. Have you learnt nothing from your time here? Like that girl on the train. You can't just do this, Francis! People might think that you actually care, and then it hurts a hell of a lot more when they realise you don't." The words poured out of Arthur.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience, _cher," _Francis teased.

Memories of himself and Francis flashed up in Arthur's mind - the little things Francis had said, flirtatious but with something _more_ behind his words; the moments over the past few weeks when something had hovered between them, when Arthur had caught his breath and thought, _is this it? _without knowing what _it_ was.

"Maybe I am," Arthur said slowly. A realisation hung indistinct at the back of his mind, fragile as eggshell.

Before Arthur could comprehend it, Gil crashed past them. "Oh, hey Artie. You're looking for me?"

Francis and Arthur stared at each other. Arthur was the first to tear his gaze away, and forced a smile. "Yeah, I was just trying to make sure you didn't charge into a post and knock yourself out in time for the match. It's the sort of thing you would do."

"Hey! Is that what you think of me? I'm hurt, Artie." Gil sniffed theatrically. "Besides, I lasted well enough before coming to Hogwarts! So I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, yeah. I guess Gilbird takes care of you when I'm not there. In fact, he can take care of you all the time. He's your responsibility now, OK?" Arthur said, reaching up to pet the chick softly.

Laughing, Gil punched him and slung his arm round Arthur's shoulders. "Jerk."

The shrill call of a whistle echoed, and a cheer went up from the stands.

"Shit, that's my cue. See you after the match, guys!" Waving a farewell, Gil raced onto the pitch.

Leaving Arthur standing awkwardly in front of Francis. Arthur could feel his gaze drill into the back of his head, and he wasn't sure he could turn around and face him. "We should probably be off too, if we don't want to miss the match…" He trailed off. Francis said nothing, so Arthur started forwards.

Before Arthur had gone even three paces, a hand encircled his wrist. He turned to see Francis scrutinising him, expression unfathomable.

"What?" Arthur said irritably, when Francis remained silent.

After a few seconds, Francis shook his head. "Nothing."

Frowning, Arthur shook his hand off and kept walking. He took the stairs two at a time, winding his way up through the stands to sit beside Kiku.

"You're late, Arthur-san," Kiku noted. "I was bored."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. And why do you come, Kiku?" Arthur laughed. "You always say you don't like Quidditch. Sadiq and Herakles might not even notice, what with concentrating on the game."

"I know, but _I'd_ know. Besides, what if they both tried to find me after the match? They'd be stuck, antagonising each other." He sighed. "I just don't get why they can't get on. They're so nice to everyone else, but leave them alone together and they'll kill each other!"

"Beats me," Arthur shrugged.

Sadiq and Herakles were notorious for their blazing rows, which only Kiku could stop. The three of them had been childhood friends until something turned Sadiq and Herakles against each other. Since then, there had been a friendship-triangle with Sadiq and Herakles vying for Kiku's attention._ "Just like toddlers,"_ Kiku complained.

"Besides, I don't only watch for those two," Kiku said quietly, fiddling with the tassels of his gold and red Gryffindor-themed scarf.

Arthur's head whipped round in shock. "Al? You and Al?"

Kiku jumped and looked around fervently, a light blush dusting his cheeks. _"Shh!_ I haven't told him. I hadn't told anyone, until just now. How did you guess?"

Arthur grinned. "He likes you too, you know. You should tell him!"

Kiku shook his head furiously. "I can't." He paused. "H-how do you know?"

"For one thing, it's blindingly obvious whenever he's around you. For another, Al's best subject is Charms."

Kiku blinked owlishly.

"Come on, Kiku! You're supposed to be a Ravenclaw!" Arthur laughed. "The tutoring is his way of trying to spend more time with you."

Kiku's reply was drowned out by a roar of approval as the first goal was scored _('And… It's in! Fantastic shot, 10 points to Slytherin!')_, and Arthur sat forward hungrily to enjoy the match.

* * *

><p>Slytherin won, in the end. Al caught the snitch, but even with the extra 150 points Gryffindor was 10 points behind. For some reason Sadiq and Herakles weren't playing as well as they normally did, and it really showed.<p>

After the match he and Kiku made a beeline for Al, and Arthur deliberately congratulated him before Gil.

"You're so meeeean, Artie!" Gil whined. "I played well, didn't I?"

Arthur laughed. He was too easy to wind up. "Yes, Gil, you played very well. That was your bludger that stopped Al catching the snitch earlier on, right?"

Gil immediately stopped pouting. "You saw that? Yup, that was me," he preened. Gilbird fluttered excitedly round his head. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling in a generous mood, and I'll forgive you for cheering for The Enemy. Now, I know a place where we can get enough Firewhisky for everyone - even drinkers like you, Artie. What do you say we get completely smashed?"

There was a rippling cheer from the surrounding students, so Gil led the way to the Room of Requirement, yanking Arthur along in a way that brooked no arguments. Not that Arthur would have had any - at least, not yet.

* * *

><p>Arthur loved Firewhisky, to the extent that he was never able to stop after the first glass. As a result he was possibly one of the few people who had been drunk more times than he could count without ever having experienced the middle stage of 'tipsy' - at least, not that he could remember afterwards.<p>

When he woke up the next morning, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. A narrow shaft of light from half-closed curtains stabbed his eyes, and he groaned and flopped back onto his bed.

The first thing he realised when his head hit his pillow was that said pillow was slightly harder than he remembered, almost… _toned_.

The second thing he realised was that it wasn't a pillow at all, but someone's abdomen - an unknown person, whose chest was still (luckily) rising and falling in sleep.

Oddly, this didn't bother Arthur as much as it should have. As he fought his way out of the heavy drapes - Slytherin green, he noted - Arthur's main concern was that the light appeared to be trying to sear out his eyes.

Once he'd struggled free, Arthur turned to see whose bed it was he'd ended up in. He had presumed it was Gil's, as it wouldn't be the first time Arthur had had too much to drink and ended up sharing with Gil. But Gil was a light sleeper, and he kicked, so Arthur was normally up and out rather than sleeping comfortably. The fact that he'd slept well could not be a good sign.

It wasn't. Arthur started to ease back the covers and was met with silky blond hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo. His gut twisted in dread. There was only one person this could be.

Francis.

* * *

><p>Feel free to review :)<p> 


	4. Chapter Three and a Half - GiriTur

Sadiq Adnan and Herakles Karpusi had been best friends for years.

For almost half of that time, Sadiq had been nursing a (probably unrequited) crush on his daydreamer friend – a crush that had alarmingly quickly developed into full-blown _love_, as ridiculous as that sounded.

He'd planned never to act on it - because honestly, how stupid do you have to _be_ to risk ruining a friendship on a possibility? That time when he'd kissed Herakles had been a combination of impulse and summer. Seeing Herakles half-sleeping in the sun, flushed with heat despite having discarded his tie and heavy robes (and shoved away most of the stray cats that inexplicably gathered round him), Sadiq couldn't really be blamed for losing control.

At the time Sadiq had almost thought things would be okay, because Herakles had just blushed and opened his green eyes slightly wider. He'd seemed surprised rather than disgusted, and Sadiq had hoped that maybe things would just go back to how they always were; that Herakles would chalk it up to the same things he himself had, and have done with it.

And then when he arrived back in Hogwarts at the start of the autumn term, Herakles had made it very clear that things weren't going to be okay at all.

Sadiq tried to move on, he really did. He went out with a couple of girls but it never worked out. The one relationship he had that lasted longer than a month ended abruptly when he caught her cheating on him – with Herakles.

That had been the worst part.

That had been the spark that set the rest into motion. Up until then, Sadiq had hoped that maybe there would be reconciliation at some point, whether it was not for another year or ten. Because he'd wait for Herakles, he really would, sappy as it was to admit.

After that, Sadiq had just given up.

* * *

><p>Herakles Karpusi and Sadiq Adnan had been best friends for years.<p>

Herakles had spent much of that time trying (albeit unsuccessfully) to quell a feeling that was entirely inappropriate for a friend, a feeling that had graciously rewarded his efforts by escalating from mere puppy love to the kind of irritatingly sappy fairytale romance that _wasn't supposed to happen_ in reality.

Even though Herakles and Sadiq's friendship had been cut off abruptly and messily, the damn infatuation refused to die down.

Herakles hadn't spoken a civil word to Sadiq in an age, but he couldn't remember a time when he'd gone more than three days without at least one too-graphic dream featuring Sadiq as main character.

It pissed Herakles off. When he and Sadiq had fallen out, it had been a combination of family loyalties and _those_ feelings that had broken the friendship definitively.

Herakles was loyal, fiercely so – he was a Gryffindor for a reason – so it wouldn't have been easy to betray his family by staying friends with Sadiq. But if he'd thought that there was even a chance that Sadiq liked him back, their argument would never have continued like it had.

But Sadiq had kissed him, had given him that tiny flicker of hope, and then proceeded to have a string of girlfriends as if to mock him.

It was the double betrayal that Herakles couldn't forgive.

* * *

><p>Sadiq had always hated family gatherings. They were depressing and awkward to a fault, mainly consisting of his father talking about his company, Lâle, which supplied magical ingredients for everything from wands to potions. When last summer its main (and indeed only) competition, Karpusi Inc., went bust, Lâle became the most powerful corporation in the Wizarding world.<p>

(Sadiq would inherit all of it when his father retired.)

Since Karpusi Inc. had gone bust under dubious circumstances, the finger of blame had of course swung straight round to point at Sadiq's father.

The newspapers had been all over it, of course, but with journalists like Rita Skeeter you couldn't believe everything you read. Maybe it was just Sadiq's naivety, being unable to see things for how they were – but it was difficult to believe the worst of your family even if there was incontrovertible proof, and there hadn't been.

Until now.

It was one of the aforementioned family gatherings, and his father calmly dropped into the conversation the fact that the papers had been right. _Calmly_, as if destroying a multi-million galleon business empire – not to mention the livelihoods of the thousands of wizards associated with it - was nothing. All in a days work.

(Sadiq decided then and there that he'd dissolve Lâle the second he inherited it.)

And then Sadiq had realised something, something that completely overshadowed the discovery that his father took _ruthless businessman_ to new lows.

What was it Kiku had said? _"Herakles doesn't hate you for some petty argument that happened before the summer. It's because of what happened to his mother. He's using you as a scapegoat because he feels helpless and there's no one else he can blame."_

At the time, Sadiq had just dismissed it as bullshit. After all, he'd told Kiku that they'd argued, not that he'd kissed Herakles by force.

_But what if Kiku was right?_

What if Herakles was pissed at him not because of the kiss, but because of what happened afterwards? From there, it was perfectly plausible that things had escalated and hurled them into their current situation.

For the first time in forever, Sadiq felt a flicker of hope. Next time he saw Herakles, he'd say sorry. Even if Herakles scorned his apology, at least then he'd know that he'd done everything he could.

* * *

><p><em>Fucking Sadiq.<em>

Herakles was pissed.

Sadiq had cornered him before the Quidditch match and apologised wholeheartedly for what had happened to Herakles' mother.

After Karpusi Inc. had been destroyed last summer, Herakles' mother Alkmene had completely wasted away. The company had been her life's work, and Hakan fucking Adnan had ruined it and _no one seemed to care_.

Eventually, Alkmene had wound up working some Muggle job, a twelve-hour shift waitressing at some shitty café. Needless to say, she hated it.

And then fucking Sadiq had come up and said he was _sorry_, and he was sincere and earnest and Herakles fucking _hated_ him for it.

Because what good was an apology? It just made things that much more difficult for Herakles.

He couldn't be in love with his family's enemy - _his_ enemy. Maybe he wouldn't succeed, but he would damn well _try_ to hate Sadiq. OK, so he hadn't exactly managed hate – he hadn't even managed a mild dislike, no matter how hard he tried. The only thing Herakles _had_ achieved was a lot of guilt and heartache (and betrayal).

Herakles growled and leaned forward, streamlining himself so that the broom accelerated towards the ground. He pulled up at the last second and hovered, thinking things over.

He and Sadiq had just been chewed out by the team captain for fucking up the match, and it had put him into an even fouler mood. He was glad of the torrential rain that was currently lashing down, because (even more than the fact that it was after dark and he was most definitely _not_ supposed to be out here), it meant that no one would be out. And right now, Herakles just wanted to be alone.

"Nice Wronski, Karpusi."

Of course. Fucking Sadiq and his unerring ability to piss Herakles off. "Fuck off, Adnan."

He twisted his broom up and away, hoping that Sadiq would decide not to brave the weather just to screw with him.

(He hated the fact they were no longer on a first name basis.)

When he finally halted, hovering just below the cloud line, he discovered that he'd been wrong. Mere seconds after he halted his broom, Sadiq joined him, grinning like it was a fucking _game_. Seeing that expression, Herakles' heart beat slightly faster, and he hated even more because of it.

It was Sadiq's fault, and Herakles hated him for it. It was Sadiq's fault, and Herakles hated himself for knowing deep down that it was so much more complicated than that.

Typical that Herakles had to fall in love with the one person he should detest.

"The fuck do you want. Or are you just following me 'cause you know it pisses me off?"

Sadiq's grin vanished and his amber eyes turned serious. _He has really long eyelashes,_ Herakles noted. "What I said earlier, I really meant it."

Herakles scowled. "Don't fucking apologise for something you didn't do. Apologise for the other stuff."

Sadiq frowned. "You mean for what I did before that?"

Herakles' scowl deepened.

Sadiq had kissed him, just before they'd broken up for the summer. He had never offered an explanation or mentioned anything about it, so Herakles assumed it had been a mistake. Even more so when Sadiq had started dating some idiot Hufflepuff. But it still pissed Herakles off that Sadiq's on-an-impulse could mean so much to him, and so little to Sadiq himself.

Sadiq narrowed his eyes and went on. "Because I'm not apologising about that. Yeah, what happened to your mum wasn't my fault, but I still feel bad about it. I don't feel bad about kissing you. Everything else, everything that's happened since, feel free to hate me for it. But I can't just stop _loving_ you, so don't you _dare_ ask me to."

Herakles stared at him, uncomprehending. "You can't stop _what?"_

Sadiq made a noise in the back of his throat. Then he turned his broom and plummeted back down to earth.

Herakles raced after him as fast as he could go. They landed at almost the same moment, skidding slightly on the muddy grass. Sadiq didn't even slow, just strode off towards the storage shed, and Herakles hurried after him.

_He said he loves me. Sadiq loves me. He fucking loves me._

"Wait, Sadiq! Wait!"

Of course Sadiq didn't wait. Why should he? Herakles had been a jerk, too wrapped up in his own problems to even think about Sadiq.

Sadiq reached the shed and stopped, fiddling with the lock. Herakles caught up to him and grabbed his wrists, turning him round and pushing him back against the door.

And then he froze. What the fuck was he supposed to say? There was so much he had to tell Sadiq; that he was sorry, that he'd been an idiot, that he loved him too.

Sadiq glared at him. "What, you're gonna punch me or something? Haven't you fucking well –"

Before Sadiq could finish his sentence, Herakles yanked him close and crushed their mouths together in a kiss, pouring all of his emotions into that one contact.

It was messy, really. It was raining, and it was dark, and Herakles hadn't really thought through any of the logistics like angle. But in that moment Herakles didn't give a shit because despite everything this was _perfect_.

For a moment Sadiq seemed too surprised to respond. Then he growled and kissed back fiercely, winding his hands into Herakles' hair and licking his way into his mouth. (Sadiq tasted like rain; sharp and sweet.) Herakles shifted slightly so that their hips were in line, and then he lost himself in feeling.

Herakles broke the kiss only when the need for oxygen became pressing, and even then he didn't draw back far. They were still incredibly close; Herakles could feel the warmth radiating from Sadiq, and the _thumpthumpthump_ of a heartbeat that wasn't his own, but that beat out the same pounding rhythm as his own.

Sadiq's eyes fluttered open and his gaze caught Herakles'. "Why?"

Herakles tried not to grin. Sadiq's hair was tousled, his lips kiss-swollen, and his amber eyes were hazy with desire. He looked thoroughly debauched - and it was all because of Herakles. "I'm sorry," he said.

A shadow of emotion passed over Sadiq's face, and then his expression set into that unreadable mask Herakles had always hated.

It suddenly clicked that his apology could have been taken two ways. "No, I mean, I'm not sorry about the kiss, because it's the same for me, you know? I meant I'm sorry about everything else. About being such an ass. I have a whole pile of excuses, but I don't know if you want to hear them, because to be honest they're quite rambling and –"

"I stopped listening at 'it's the same for me,'" Sadiq cut in.

And then they were kissing again, and even though he was soaked through and the rain drummed icy needles on his skin, Herakles was warm because Sadiq's kiss was threading his veins with fire.

* * *

><p>When Sadiq stirred out of sleep the next morning, Herakles was already awake, carding his fingers through Sadiq's hair.<p>

"Finally. I thought you were planning on sleeping forever," Herakles teased. "And what am I to you, just a pillow?" He gestured at the way Sadiq had somehow managed to stretch out across most of the double bed and Herakles' torso.

"You're very comfy," Sadiq said sleepily, making no effort to move from his position nuzzled into Herakles' chest.

Sadiq could feel the vibrations as Herakles laughed quietly and started petting him again. Presently he asked, "What now?"

"Now I have to go home and come out to my father," Sadiq said gloomily. "Not to mention telling him that I'm refusing to take over his company."

Herakles shifted and looked down at him in surprise. "You are? Why?"

Sadiq sighed. "When Karpusi Inc. went bust, I didn't think there was foul play at first. That was why I didn't apologise until just now."

Herakles was silent for a moment. He frowned thoughtfully. "So I suppose we just hope for the best."

_We_. Sadiq's heart skipped happily. Then he sighed. "You make it sound so simple."

Herakles grinned and took Sadiq's hand, lacing their fingers together. "What could be more simple than this?"

Al ripped open the drapes and declared in a sing-song voice, "Rise and shine, Karpusi, it's time for – Oh."

Early morning Quidditch practice. They'd both forgotten.

There was a tentative silence while they waited for Al to comment.

"Well, as long as you don't get pregnant, I don't mind what you and Karpusi get up to. I'll tell the captain you're both ill, 'kay?"

With that, Al disappeared out of sight, closing the drapes behind him.

There was an astonished silence while the two of them tried to work out what had just happened, and then Herakles sniggered.

"What?" Sadiq asked.

Herakles' smirk just widened. "He thinks you're bottom."

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><p>Feel free to review :)<p> 


	5. Chapter Four

A/N - Happy New Year!

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><p>Arthur was drunk.<p>

Inscrutable as Arthur normally was, the fact was as prominent as those bushy eyebrows. Arthur was completely off his head _pissed_.

Either that or he'd decided that it seemed like an excellent idea to jump on top of the table and belt out old rock songs (complete with air guitar and headbanging).

"Is he always like this when he's drunk?" Francis asked.

Antonio spread his palms, causing himself to tilt dangerously. They both turned to Gil.

Gil shook his head. "Nah, this is one of his stages of drunkenness. At stage one Artie starts acting like a true Ravenclaw prefect - even his accent changes. Normally he falls asleep, or is Petrified, round about stage five, because by stage six he's batshit _crazy_." Gil put a hand on Francis' shoulder and stared earnestly at him. "Fanny, as your mentor I authorise you to do anything in your power to stop Artie if he reaches that stage. I've only let it happen once, and he decided it'd be a good idea to try and tame a Fiendfyre dragon by feeding it crackers." Gil shuddered. "That was not easy to clear up after…"

"So what stage is this right now?" Antonio slurred.

Gil tilted his head critically at Arthur, who had just ended a dramatic guitar solo complete with slide, nearly falling off the table in the process. "Judging from the singing and the Cockney lapses, I'd say he's at around stage three, but still with traces of stage two."

"What happens in stage two?"

Gil shrugged. "It's pretty harmless, really. His accent goes all Cockney. Sometimes he starts trying to pickpocket, but it never works too well 'cause he's too drunk for subtlety."

Antonio giggled and took another swig from his bottle of Firewhisky. He straightened up suddenly. "Is that Lovi over there?" He asked. He nodded his head determinedly. "I'm gonna tell him that I like him."

Francis looked quizzically at him.

"It's the Firewhisky. Liquid courage, this is," Gil explained, brandishing his own bottle.

"Gil!"

It was Elizabeta, beckoning furiously at Gil.

"Sorry, Fanny. Business to take care of, you know." Gil winked conspiratorially, and disappeared into a corner with Elizabeta.

By this point, Arthur seemed to have run out of Firewhisky. He made a wobbly beeline for Francis, who seemed to be the only person still on his first bottle.

"Heyyyy, Fra -" He frowned, seeming to have forgotten the rest of Francis' name, or at least how to pronounce such a complicated word. "France!" He grinned at his success. "You drinking that?"

He was pointing vaguely at Francis bottle - or possibly at his tie, but Francis guessed the former was more likely. He shook his head. _"Non, cher,_ I find this _alcool_ a bit… Unrefined."

Arthur's green eyes widened dramatically. "You don't like _Firewhisky?"_ He said. Then he shrugged and reached for the bottle. "Your loss. So, how you?"

_"Bien, merci. Et toi?"_

_"Oui, ça va bien."_ Arthur replied in flawless French. _"Je crois que j'ai bu trop d'alcool, mais c'est la vie!"*_ He grinned.

Francis nearly had a heart attack. "Arthur - you can speak French?"

Arthur frowned, puzzled. "This is English, Fraaaance. You sure you're not drunk?"

Elizabeta's voice suddenly boomed out over the din. "So, who's up for a game? You're never too old for a bit of Truth or Dare, especially when Gil -" beside her, Gil swept a low bow, doffing an imaginary hat - "has stolen - I mean, _procured,_ some Veritaserum!"

There was a combination of cheering and nervous glances, which Elizabeta clearly took to be an enthusiastic _yes_. "OK. So I'm gonna put it in this bottle, and everyone has to take a sip. Got it? _Everyone."_ She glared around threateningly.

In the end, she managed to menace some ten people into playing - mainly those who were most drunk and had the fewest mental faculties intact. Francis was forced into it by a combination of Gil's cajoling and Elizabeta's saucepan. (The fact that Arthur was taking part had _nothing_ to do with his decision to join.)

Apart from Francis, there was Arthur, Gil, Elizabeta, Antonio, Alfred, Matthew, Feliciano, and Lovino - though he was glaring furiously in a way that convinced Francis that he'd been tricked into it. As Elizebeta's boyfriend, Roderich was obliged to take part, but he'd managed to weasel out of taking the Veritaserum.

"Alright?" Elizabeta beamed.

The others nodded their heads with various degrees of enthusiasm. She flicked her wand and the now-empty bottle spun furiously before eventually coming to a stop. It pointed directly at Lovino.

"Truth or dare?" Elizabeta said.

Lovino scowled. "Dare," he said unwillingly.

"Change of rules. From now on, you can only pick truth."

Lovino spluttered. "Hey, that's not fair!" Suddenly, he grinned triumphantly. "You used your wand to spin the bottle. You could've made it land on me. Spin it again, the Muggle way."

Elizabeta glared at him furiously. Beside her, Roderich sighed and reached forwards to spin the bottle.

This was very bad. Elizabeta had said they could only pick truth, and Francis had plenty of things he didn't want to talk about. He held his breath as it spun slower and slower and…

Stopped. It was pointing directly at him.

"Francis," Elizabeta grinned, a manic glint in her eyes. "Your truth is… Do you like Arthur?"

"Yes," Francis blurted. Inwardly cursing himself for ever thinking this would be a good idea, he glanced at Arthur to gauge his reaction.

At first, Arthur just looked surprised, but suddenly a slow grin spread across his face. His emerald green eyes turned sharp, and his expression was of a cat that has cornered a mouse. "Oh?" He said, and the word was a bead of honey.

"Oh, stage four already?" Gil mused.

Elizabeta's gaze was swinging between Arthur and Francis with an air of dreamy satisfaction. Roderich sighed again and spun the bottle. It landed on Al this time, who blushed and took off his glasses.

As the last person asked a truth, it was Francis' turn to pose a question. "Ah… Who do _you_ like?" He said, hoping it'd draw everyone's attention away from him and his confession.

There was a groan. "Christ, Fanny, everyone knows Al's had a crush on Kiku since forever!" Gil said. "Couldn't you've asked him something a bit more embarrassing?"

_Merde_. That had been Francis' one chance to distract them, and he'd failed.

The bottle spun again, and this time it stopped on Arthur. "Dare," he said confidently, still staring at Francis.

"Um, Artie, Liza said truth only -"

"That rule is officially revoked," Elizabeta interrupted. "Al, shush. This dare is mine to give. Arthur Kirkland, I dare you to kiss Francis."

_"Quoi?"_ Francis said, astounded.

"Oh, don't worry, Francis, it can count for next time the bottle lands on you," Elizabeta said, waving her hand airily and completely ignoring the fact that _that wasn't the issue here_. What if Arthur didn't want to, especially considering what Francis had just had to admit to?

He glanced at Arthur, and the argument died before Francis could even think of forming it into words. Arthur's gaze burned into him, full of unveiled promises and desires, so that Francis had to look away and pray he wasn't blushing. Of course, Arthur didn't fail to notice this. The corners of his lips curled upwards ever so slightly and he purred, "Alright."

Arthur drew closer torturously slowly, every movement drenched in sensuality. He stopped suddenly, inches away from Francis, as if waiting from him to close the distance. Francis wanted nothing more, but for some reason he couldn't move, couldn't even _breathe_, and so he waited.

Arthur lifted Francis' tie, running it between his fingers until he reached the knot at the top. Teasing it loose, he looped his fingers round it and yanked Francis towards him, crushing their mouths together in a savage kiss.

For a moment Francis froze, hardly daring to imagine that this was happening, that he wasn't going to wake up twisted in his sheets with the memory of Arthur's kiss already slipping away into the darkness. He felt Arthur's teeth tease at his lips and his tongue smooth away the hurt, and he parted his lips willingly. Arthur let out a little growl. His fingers danced at Francis' sides, tugging at his shirt before slipping underneath to trace fiery patterns on his bare skin. Francis shivered happily, and for the first time in his life he gave himself up entirely.

The world shrank suddenly. Francis forgot where they were, forgot the onlookers, forgot everything but the taste of Arthur and the heat that spread from his touch, coursing through his body and consuming him. He arched his spine and keened with pleasure, pushing closer to Arthur so that their bodies were flush together.

A polite cough brought Francis back to reality. Arthur moved away languidly, gaze lingering on Francis. He wasn't even blushing.

There was a stunned silence, first broken by Matthew of all people. He leaned over to Al, who still looked slightly shell-shocked, and held out his hand. "Told you so," he said matter-of-factly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Pay up."

Francis glanced around nervously. No-one looked especially surprised. The most obvious emotion was various stages of curiosity, from Roderich, who looked entirely disinterested, to Elizabeta, who was gazing rapturously at them, not noticing or caring about the blood trickling from her nose.

"Christ, Artie, I reckon you've had enough for one night," Gil chuckled. "Somebody better take him back to the dorms before he rapes someone!"

"Francis, why don't you go?" Elizabeta volunteered.

Francis opened his mouth to explain that if Arthur kept acting like this, he was in much more danger of _being_ violated than the reverse.

"I'd like that," Arthur purred.

"It's settled then. Francis, just dump him in the Slytherin commonroom - the Ravenclaws get pissy if you come in later than one. And don't forget what I told you earlier! This is stage four, so be prepared," Gil warned.

Francis opened his mouth to protest but before he could form the words, Arthur had yanked him to his feet. He still held Francis' hand in his own, and they stood inches apart.

He tugged his hand away and started off. After a few seconds, he realised that Arthur wasn't following. "Are you coming?"

An arch smile played at Arthur's lips. "Not yet, but you can help me with that later."

With difficulty, Francis forced his mind from continuing along that particular line of thought. Trying not to blush, he grabbed Arthur's arm and dragged him towards the door.

* * *

><p>"Do you really like me?" Arthur said quietly.<p>

Almost as soon as leaving the Room of Requirement, they had got lost. When they'd stumbled upon the fourth empty classroom and Arthur had made yet another lascivious suggestion, Francis' willpower had very nearly snapped. He'd been unbuttoning Arthur's shirt when their voices had woken one of the paintings, which had quickly put paid to the mood. Since then, Francis had been trying his best to ignore Arthur and focus on where they were going.

Francis turned around, surprised by the timid tone of the question. Arthur was refusing to look at Francis, and even in the darkness he could see Arthur was blushing. _This must be stage five,_ Francis realised.

"Why do you ask?" Francis hedged. The effects of the Veritaserum were beginning to wear off, but he still wasn't sure if he could flat-out lie.

Arthur was quiet for a long while. "You confuse me. Sometimes I think… I don't know. With you, I just don't know what to think." He laughed dryly. "Hell, sometimes I don't even know _how_ to think."

Was it possible… Could Arthur have noticed it too? Have felt that there was something between them, something that may have been more than just friendship?

"The point is that for all I know, this whole thing could be a game to you, just like it is with all those other girls."

"What about you?" Francis asked. "Do you like me?"

"Yes," Arthur said immediately. As soon as he'd admitted it, he bit his lip as if trying to stop himself from spilling further secrets.

Francis inwardly cheered. Arthur had taken a lot more Veritaserum than he had, and clearly the potion wasn't starting to wear off for him. A barrage of questions clamoured for Francis' attention. "Arthur, when -"

He caught himself. Despite how tempting it was, Francis knew it'd be unfair to take advantage of the situation. Judging from the expression on Arthur's face there were a good few things that he most definitely did not want to talk about. Whatever it was, Francis was sure that it'd be better in the long run if he found out when Arthur wasn't under the influence of potions or alcohol or both.

He sighed. "I said I liked you when I'd just taken Veritaserum. What do you think?"

Arthur's eyes widened slightly.

Francis returned to concentrating on their whereabouts. To his relief, he finally recognised a portrait of an old knight on a dappled horse, both currently snoring away. "This way."

They eventually made their way back to the dorms and Francis quickly realised that there weren't enough beds for an extra Ravenclaw. He tucked Arthur into his own bed and started heading back to the common room, planning on sleeping on one of the sofas.

A hand latching onto the back of his shirt stopped him. "Where are you going?" Arthur asked, confused. "I thought this was your bed?"

_"Oui, mais_ you are currently occupying it."

Arthur giggled. "Don't be silly, Francis! We'll share!"

_"Quoi?"_

"Me and Gil do it all the time. Get in." He lifted the covers expectantly.

Francis didn't move, not sure how to react. Arthur sighed and before Francis knew what was happening he had been pulled backwards onto the bed. _Considering how drunk he is, Arthur is surprisingly strong,_ Francis reflected.

The rest of Francis' train of thought was cut off when Arthur seemed to decide that merely sharing a bed wasn't dangerous enough, and that it would be a great idea to snuggle up to Francis, who was only just managing to restrain himself as it was.

Arthur's nose pressed into Francis' neck, so that Francis could feel warm breath on his pulse point. One arm was slung over Francis' waist, the tips of slender fingers just barely brushing his hipbone. It was a position that could have been designed to frustrate Francis. He closed his eyes, in the hope that it would somehow enable him to ignore the electric thrill of desire that scorched through him with Arthur's proximity.

Oddly, it didn't work. And when Arthur moaned quietly in his sleep and Francis' treacherous thoughts led him in a direction they shouldn't be, Francis realised that it was nigh impossible to resist drunk Arthur.

Then again, if he could do that, Francis was pretty sure he could do anything - maybe even a sober Arthur.

* * *

><p>Translations: <em>"Je crois que j'ai bu trop d'alcool, mais c'est la vie!" <em>- I think I've drunk too much alcohol, but that's life!

Ah, I love drunk!Arthur.

Feel free to review :)


	6. Chapter Five

A/N - Yes, I am a shitty human being who is far too lazy to update often. I'm sorry! To compensate this chapter is freaking long. Anyways, hope people enjoy the chapter!

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><p>As soon as Arthur had fled Francis' bed, he hurried to track down Elizabeta. She'd probably refuse, the heartless bint, but Arthur was determined to at least try to stop her before the whole school was convinced he was insane. "Eliza, whatever photographic evidence you have of me embarrassing myself yesterday, I want you to relinquish it now."<p>

Elizabeta smirked. "Oh, you mean something like this, perhaps?" She held up a photo - _not too incriminating,_ Arthur thought, until she fanned it out to reveal about eight different pictures of him and Francis in various compromising positions. "They'll make me a pretty penny, won't they? Especially this one -" she held up a picture of Arthur straddling Francis, hands inside the other boy's shirt and looking entirely too into the kiss.

Arthur recoiled in horror. What had he done yesterday? "Please, Eliza, I'll buy them off you! Name a price, just _please -"_

"You couldn't possibly have enough to cover all my losses, Arthur."

"Please?"

She sighed. "Fine. I'll give them to you and you can destroy them. But on one condition!"

"What?"

"You have to allow me to make one copy of just this one photo," she said. "For my own personal use."

Unsurprisingly, she was holding up one of the more humiliating photos of him and Francis kissing. Arthur tried not to dwell on what she meant by 'personal use'. It wasn't ideal, but there was no chance he'd get anything better from Elizabeta. "Fine."

As soon as she'd made her copy, Arthur snatched the photos up and tucked them into his robe. He cast a quick _Tempus_ charm; three minutes until his next lesson. Just long enough to hurry back to the common room and destroy the things somewhere less open than the crowded hallway.

When he arrived at the common room, it was empty, as he'd predicted. No self-respecting Ravenclaw would dare even risk being late for a lesson. He crouched in front of the fireplace and surreptitiously took out the photos.

Morbid curiosity compelled him to look through them. Each one seemed to be more awful than the last. Arthur blushed and cursed the gods of Firewhisky. He rifled through all the photos, casting them into the flames without a hint of remorse.

All but the last.

The last one wasn't part of the same series of photos. It was a moving picture of Arthur in the library. It showed him lying fast asleep on top of a pile of books and a roll of parchment that he recognised as a Potions essay from last week. Arthur remembered it because he could remember what came next; he'd been woken up by a sharp poke from Francis, who had immediately burst out laughing because the blue ink of his essay had managed to transfer onto half his face.

Arthur scowled. He didn't really fancy a reminder of _that_. He was just about to throw it onto the fire when the photograph's movement caught his attention.

Because it _wasn't_ a moving photograph of Francis rudely awakening him. As he watched, photo-Francis reached over softly and carded a hand through photo-Arthur's messy blond hair - _and does it really look so dishevelled?_ Arthur wondered idly - before stooping and -

- flinching backwards, as one of Arthur's books slid off the desk with a crash.

Arthur noticed he'd been holding his breath, and felt ridiculous. Even so, he couldn't quite bring himself to destroy the photo.

Stuffing the photograph into one of the pockets of his robe Arthur made his way to Transfiguration, slipping in quietly five minutes late.

* * *

><p>It rained that afternoon.<p>

Arthur had been almost one hundred percent sure that having seen the ceiling of the Great Hall, no-one but him would leave the castle, especially not to visit the lake. The enchanted ceiling had shown flashes of lightning and fat droplets that vanished a few feet above the heads of the students, an exaggerated yet portentous indication of the weather.

Rain in England is hardly a novelty, and Arthur had always thought he was the only Brit to actually _like_ the feeling of being soaked to the skin. (Judging from the gloomy expressions of foreign students like Kiku, maybe even the only one in the world.) He'd practically fled Herbology, his last lesson of the day, and made a beeline for the lake as the first cold droplets pricked his skin.

Once he'd divested himself of his tie and heavy robes, Arthur tossed them under a tree so they'd keep at least somewhat dry. He rolled up his sleeves, tilted his head back and let his eyes close, succumbing to waterlogged abandon.

The driving rain stung his skin, and it was only a few seconds before he was soaked entirely. The water ran in rivulets along the contours of his body, racing in cold streams down his back. He licked his lips and tasted the clean November rain.

He was interrupted suddenly by a shout of, _"Merde,"_ and before he knew what was happening he had an armful of soggy Frenchman.

"Francis, what in the name of _bugger_ are you doing?"

"It's muddy," Francis said, struggling to stand up without falling.

"Can't you watch where you're going?" Arthur said irritably, not appreciating the interruption. "With this weather you'll almost certainly slip again and I might not be there to save your perfect arse."

Francis quirked an eyebrow and grinned lasciviously. "My perfect arse? _Monsieur_ Kirkland, if I didn't know better I'd think you were propositioning me."

"I didn't… Oh, fuck off, Frog."

Having apparently given up on the idea of standing, Francis sat down with a squelch. After a moment's deliberation Arthur joined him.

They sat quietly, looking over the lake. The rain struck the surface, rippling the water like cobwebbing cracks on a mirror, and Arthur had to ask. "What… What happened, yesterday?"

Francis shot him a startled glance. "You don't remember?"

Arthur shook his head. "I just woke up, shirtless, in your bed. And then I freaked out and ran, of course."

The corners of Francis' lips quirked upwards.

Arthur waited with bated breath.

Eventually, Francis sighed. "Nothing happened, actually. We played Truth or Dare -"

"With Veritaserum?" Arthur asked. Knowing Gil he would've filched some from the Potions cupboard and spiked the Firewhisky.

Francis nodded. "Don't worry, though - I'm the only one who had to make any embarrassing revelations." He coughed delicately. "We did kiss, though."

That explained Elizabeta's photos. "Is that it?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Francis nodded. "Please don't tell me you and Gil have done…?" He looked at Arthur in comical horror, and for a moment part of Arthur wanted to lie just to freak Francis out.

"No. There was this one time when we were both pretty drunk and apparently we made out, but I mean, Gil's my _best friend_. Just thinking about kissing him kinda squicks me out, to be honest."

"What about kissing me?" Francis murmured.

For a moment Arthur thought he'd misheard. But when he turned and stared at Francis in amazement, Francis matched his gaze defiantly.

With Francis' words still circling in his mind, Arthur couldn't stop help but look at Francis. _He's playing with you, Arthur!_ He told himself. _You know what he's like, he's a flirt, this is what he does! Don't just -_

Arthur stopped thinking and just stared.

Francis' blue eyes were framed with thick lashes spiked with rain, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable. The deluge had darkened his hair and it hung around his face, free from the loose ponytail he normally tied it in. The rain still sheeted down, and Arthur found himself following the path of a raindrop as it slid along the line of Francis' neck, stopping in the hollow at the base of his throat. Arthur felt the strangest desire to taste that raindrop - would it taste like the sweet cold rain, or the heady warmth of Francis?

Realising his thoughts were taking a dangerous turn, Arthur backpedalled. "I haven't thought about it," he said abruptly, looking back up at the sky.

After a while, Francis stood up and headed vaguely for the trees, wandering in the zigzag pattern of someone looking for something. Against his better judgement Arthur turned around to watch him.

"What are you looking for?" He asked eventually.

"Oh, it isn't really important. Shelley lost her scarf out here, and she asked me to look for it for her. Can I borrow your wand? I left mine at the castle, and this'd be a lot easier with magic."

_Shelley?_ Arthur wondered. He didn't even know who she was. Francis must have made it his mission to get through every single girl in the school. "It's in my robes," he said absently, gesturing towards the messy heap under the tree.

_"Merci,"_ Francis said.

Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling the rain sluice down his skin.

There was a cough behind him, and he turned to see Francis holding the photo, one delicate eyebrow raised in question.

_Oh, shit._

"Honestly, there's a really good explanation as to what exactly that's doing in there," Arthur said hurriedly. _Just give me a few seconds to think of one,_ he thought.

_"Non,_ there is not. And I'm not planning on waiting long enough for you to think of one," Francis said, striding back towards him.

Arthur sprang to his feet and shifted into a more balanced stance. Judging from the determination on Francis' face, the other boy was going to punch him. And Arthur didn't fancy embarrassing himself further by falling into the lake or something.

Francis raised one hand and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut so that he didn't have to watch the blow coming. There was no point trying to fight back; it was better to just allow Francis to let out his anger all at once.

When he felt a soft pressure against his lips, it freaked Arthur out even more than the prospect of a black eye. He flinched back and stared at Francis in surprise. Francis was hovering only inches away and staring at him with blue eyes as inscrutable as ever.

Slowly, as if trying not to startle him, Francis cupped Arthur's cheek with one hand, sliding it round to the back of his neck to draw him slightly closer and kiss him sweet.

After a few dizzy seconds Arthur's brain finally managed to catch up with what was happening. He raised his hand to Francis' chest to try and push him away, but for some reason he couldn't. Francis' tongue nudged his closed mouth, coaxing gently, and before he could stop himself Arthur found himself parting his lips and kissing back.

Under his palm Francis' heartbeat accelerated; Arthur realised that his had done so, too. Ignoring the voice in the back of his mind, he slid his hands round Francis' waist so that their bodies were flush against each other and kissed Francis fiercely. Francis' slender fingers gripped Arthur's hipbone almost painfully hard, and he gasped. Immediately the hold loosened and instead Francis' thumb stroked circles on his skin.

When they parted Arthur's head was spinning and his knees shook. Francis was still holding him tightly as if he'd never let Arthur go and Arthur felt a rush of happiness. After the icy rain the heat of another body was almost burning.

On an impulse, Arthur lowered his head to kiss Francis' collarbone. He could feel cool raindrops on his lips and flickered out his tongue to taste. Francis gasped and shivered in his arms_. "Je t'aime,"_ He murmured.

Arthur froze, automatically translating the French. _I love you._ To how many people had Francis said those words?

Francis noticed his hesitation and drew back slightly, curving his hand under Arthur's chin to raise his head. "What's wrong, _mon cher?"_

"I…" Arthur faltered. _He's just like Marie._ "I have to go."

Without waiting for an answer, Arthur turned and fled towards the castle.

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><p>I have a creepy obsession with collarbones.<p>

Review? :3


	7. Chapter Six

Francis trudged back to the castle and tried not to feel frustrated. The Veritaserum experience meant that Francis _knew_ Arthur liked him, but for some reason the stubborn idiot was refusing to admit it.

He slumped in front of the fireplace with a sigh. His robes were soaked through and Francis didn't even want to _think_ about his hair.

As he was deliberating, he suddenly realised something that made his panic over his hair seem petty and insignificant. He'd asked Arthur whether he liked Francis, but he'd never specified whether that was as a friend, a brother, or something more. Admittedly, kissing a brother-figure like _that _seemed a bit twisted, so Francis mentally crossed off that possibility, but it was still possible that Arthur just thought of him as a friend, or a friend with benefits.

Gil sloped up to him after a while, plopping himself down on the armchair in front of Francis and completely blocking the warmth of the fire.

"Fanny?"

_"Oui?"_

"I just wanted to say, I give you my personal permission to date Arthur."

Francis' eyes flashed open. _"Quoi?"_

Gil smiled encouragingly. "Yes. I can tell you're worried about it, but you don't have to be! I will absolutely support you. But you have to swear to me not to get Arthur pregnant, and if you do I call dibs on being godfather."

Francis sighed. "Gil, Arthur is a man. It's pretty difficult for him to get pregnant, considering he has the wrong equipment."

"Difficult, but not impossible, right? If the seahorses can do it, so can we!" Gil said defiantly.

"Gil –"

"I also want naming rights."

Gil glared at Francis until he nodded. _"D'accord, _as long as you don't name the poor child Awesome, or a synonym of."

Gil scowled. "Fine."

Francis remembered he was depressed and sighed.

"What's wrong?" Gil asked curiously.

"I doubt you're ever going to be a godfather, Gil. At least not to mine and Arthur's child," Francis sighed.

"What?" Gil leapt up. "Why not?"

"Because I'm pretty sure that Arthur doesn't even like me like that," he said morosely.

Gil peered nervously over Francis' shoulder. "Antonio! Help, please!" He turned back to Francis. "Sorry, Fanny, but I am a lone wolf. I mean, you guys are my pack but deep down I will always be forever alone. Can't advise you on that sort of love shit."

Antonio appeared, yawning and rubbing his wrists. "Hmmmm?" He said sleepily.

"Are you OK?" Francis asked.

_"Ah, sí, estoy bien._ Just writing that Charms essay."

_"Merde."_ Francis had forgotten about that.

"Anyway!" Gil said cheerfully. "'Tonio, Fanny's having problems with romance."

Francis groaned. He came from the country of love; he wasn't supposed to be out of his depth!

"With Arthur?" Antonio said, brows furrowed in confusion. "But he obviously likes you! What are you worried about?"

"You think so?" Francis said hopefully.

_"Indudablemente!"_

_"Merci, Antoine."_ Francis said. "How are things with you and Lovino?"

Antonio's grin vanished suddenly, and he sighed. "I wish I could be as sure about Lovi as I am Arthur. He's never even said anything to me about friendship, let alone love."

Gil snorted. "You two. Sighing over people who quite obviously feel the same; you're such _idiots."_ He said in disgust. "Think about how it feels when the person doesn't even _notice_ you!"

Antonio and Francis exchanged glances. "You… Love someone? _Unrequitedly?"_

Gil blushed. _"Nein!_ No! No way! As if the awesome me could ever stoop to such petty things as emotions. I was just saying, _hypothetically -"_

Francis stifled a laugh and Antonio said, "Gil, _querido,_ next time you try to lie you might want to consider the fact that we're your friends and can tell. Especially since being albino, your whole face lights up whenever you blush."

Gil went even more red and pouted._ "Du kannst mich mal! _I'm off to socialise with real men, since you two are practically turning into girls."He said, and then he stomped off.

Antonio and Francis grinned at each other. "Fifty galleons to whoever finds out first?" Antonio said, sticking out his hand.

"Done," Francis replied.

* * *

><p>Francis hadn't spoken to Arthur since they'd kissed at the lake, and he was almost certain Arthur was avoiding him. During their free time he hadn't been able to find Arthur at any of his usual haunts – not even the library.<p>

Luckily, their timetables meant that it was impossible for Arthur to avoid Francis forever (even though he'd been doing a pretty good job of it during the last few lessons), and during Astronomy, Francis managed to engineer it so that he and Arthur were sharing one of the magically enhanced telescopes.

Arthur still wouldn't look at him, though. He'd focus the telescope and mumble something, before turning away and scribbling some notes.

Eventually, Francis was fed up. "Isn't this romantic, mon cher? Late at night, sitting out under the stars together. It's almost like we're _lovers."_

Arthur's scowl deepened and a muscle in his jaw clenched. Francis pressed on, encouraged. "Reminds me of a date I went on once. It was with –"

Before he could finish, his jaw exploded with pain as Arthur punched him – hard.

"What are you two doing?" Said Professor Sinistra.

Arthur was silent.

_"Desolé, madame;_ we were fighting," Francis said calmly.

She spluttered. "An apology isn't going to cut it this time, Bonnefoy. Both of you outside, _now;_ you are hereby dismissed. You'll be spending tomorrow night in detention for disturbing my lesson, and ten points from each of your houses for gratuitous violence."

Arthur glared furiously at him, but Francis thrilled with happiness and he didn't care. He was so stupidly pleased that Arthur was looking at him again that it didn't matter that he was probably wishing for Francis' imminent demise; _some_ emotion was better than none, and Arthur's green eyes were blazing with purest anger.

Arthur stomped back towards the Ravenclaw dormitories, the rage radiating off him tangible.

"See you in detention, _mon cher!"_ Francis called after him chirpily.

Without turning, Arthur gave him the finger. Francis laughed, wincing when his jaw twinged painfully.

By the time he arrived back at the common room, Francis was inexplicably exhausted. Nodding sleepily to the other Slytherins, he headed straight for bed.

* * *

><p>Their detention was a slightly unorthodox one, as Professor Sinistra seemed to have decided that writing lines was too juvenile and painless.<p>

Instead, they had to start cleaning out the Room of Hidden Things, sorting out the thousands of abandoned and dusty objects into piles. As a task it was for the most part boring (though Arthur seemed to be fascinated by some of the old books) and occasionally dangerous, such as when Francis disturbed the nest of acromantulae, or when Arthur stumbled across a book of the Dark Arts that immediately attacked him.

(The acromantulae experience was particularly humiliating, since Francis had always been inexplicably terrified of spiders. For a moment he'd thought Arthur was going to leave him to die, but luckily he'd changed his mind and decided to help Francis - after he'd finished cracking up.)

By the time the detention had almost finished, Arthur seemed to have returned to normal and they were chatting like nothing had happened. Francis was helping stack boxes when suddenly he heard a sharp intake of breath. When he turned to see what had happened, Arthur was standing completely still, staring at him.

Francis frowned. "What…?"

Arthur reached out and oh-so-softly ran the tips of his fingers over Francis' jawline. His fingers were cool and unbearably gentle. When he moved his hand away it took all of Francis' willpower not to seize his wrist to stop him.

"Did I do that?" Arthur said quietly, green eyes flickering up to look at Francis.

Francis nodded, not quite sure if his voice would work. How was it that with just a touch Arthur could affect him so much?

"I'm so sorry. Can I?"

Francis nodded, half wondering what he'd agreed to. Arthur placed his fingertips on the bruise as gently as if Francis was made out of glass, and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed in concentration, and then Francis felt a surge of power flow into him and the throbbing vanished.

He gasped. "Arthur, you can do wandless magic?"

Arthur tugged a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly. "Um, kinda. Don't tell anyone, though – if the teachers find out, they'll find a better punishment than just taking my wand away."

Francis laughed. Typical Arthur. Most people would be showing off something like this. Sixteen years old was incredibly young for a wizard to be able to perform wandless magic. _"Merci, mon cher."_

"That's OK. It was my fault in the first place. Has it been hurting?" Arthur asked guiltily.

_"Pas du tout,"_ Francis lied.

"That's good."

Suddenly, there was a crash as a huge tower of books collapsed. Both Francis and Arthur sighed and headed over to start restacking them.

On the way, they passed an old mirror thick with dust. Francis stopped for a moment to check his reflection, and gasped.

The mirror didn't reflect the dingy room with its teetering piles of junk. Instead, Francis saw himself sharing an armchair with Arthur in a tiny, cosy looking room. His head rested on Arthur's shoulder, who was spooned up against him. The Englishman seemed to be completely relaxed; he was leaning back into Francis, book on his lap and glasses on his nose.

"What is it?" Asked Arthur.

"Can you see that?"

Arthur frowned. "See what?" He stepped in front of the mirror, and his face changed. "What do _you_ see?"

"Um… It's us, isn't it?" He hedged.

"Go on?" Arthur said curiously.

"Well, um… We look happy. We're sitting together on an… On a sofa. The room is quite small, but it looks comfy, you know?"

Arthur looked surprised. "Nothing else? What about before I stepped in front of the mirror?"

"It was the same. Oh." While Francis was speaking, the figures in the mirror shifted slightly, as mirror-Arthur shuffled round to brush their lips together lightly. In response, mirror-Francis smiled and reached up to take off Arthur's glasses, kissing him more thoroughly.

"What? Has it changed?" Arthur asked.

Francis hoped he wasn't blushing. _"Non, non. _Same image still."

Arthur glanced at him sidelong, obviously recognising the lie. Francis looked around desperately for a distraction and, luckily, caught sight of an inscription on the frame of the mirror. "'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'? What's that supposed to mean?"

Arthur shrugged. "Dunno; probably Latin, or something."

"It doesn't _look_ like Latin…" Francis mused.

"Hey, Francis, look at the time!" Arthur said, diverting Francis' attention. "It's 12 o'clock. Detention's over by now."

"As is supper," Francis said gloomily.

Arthur laughed. "We'll go down to the kitchens; the house elves will have plenty of leftovers waiting."

They made their way down to the kitchens but unfortunately, the house elves had just finished clearing away the last of the remnants. "Damn. Winky, do you know if there's any bread or cheese or something lying around anywhere? We're both starving."

"Arthur, you're not just going to eat bread for supper!" Francis protested. "And it's not healthy to eat cheese before bed. Do you have any eggs? We could make an omelette or something."

Winky exchanged a nervous glance with another of the house elves. "Master Kirkland doesn't be very good in the kitchen," she said worriedly.

"Last time it nearly burns down." Added a third.

Francis cast a disbelieving glance at Arthur, who was studiously looking away. "That was only once, and I put it out pretty quickly."

"And my favourite saucepan is ruined," Said a third house elf morosely.

"Alright then," Francis said firmly. "I'll cook. Arthur, can you help?"

Arthur shook his head vigorously, as did most of the house elves. Francis laughed and tugged him over to the stove. "Arthur, you're incredibly good at Potions. You can't possibly be a bad cook."

One fire and three burnt omelettes later, Francis had to admit that it was possible.

Arthur had the impressive talent of being able to utterly decimate any food that he touched. It seemed that the more meticulous Arthur's preparation was, the more likely it was to end in disaster. A few minor slip-ups, and the omelette was black. When he cooked it with technical perfection, the saucepan managed to spontaneously combust, causing one of the house elves to let out a pained squeak.

"I think I might take over," Francis said hastily. Arthur shrugged as if he'd been expecting it and sat down to wait. Ten minutes later, they were both full.

They walked back to the dorms slowly. He knew it was sad, but when Arthur said "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" before taking the stairs up to his house, Francis felt incredibly relieved.

He was so happy that he even smiled at Rebecca, and wished her _bon nuit_.

He was almost asleep when he realised something about the inscription from earlier. It was_ backwards writing._

Francis rolled over and grabbed a quill and parchment from his nightstand. With shaking fingers he scribbled the words of the inscription, rewriting it backwards below:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

_Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire._

Francis frowned. That didn't make much sense. Maybe he'd been wrong?

He looked at it once more, this time ignoring the spaces, and tried again to decipher it. This time, he understood.

_I show not your face, but your heart's desire._

His heart's desire.

Arthur.

_Merde._

* * *

><p>Feel free to review :)<p> 


	8. Chapter Six and a Half - PruCan

Gil punched his pillow; it was pissing him off.

Everything was pissing him off, really, and that in itself was pissing him off because someone as awesome as him shouldn't be angsting over a guy who had rejected him almost a _year_ ago.

Gil glared over to where Francis and Antonio were snoring away contentedly, the bastards, not even caring that they were the _dummköpfe_ who had forced him to stop blocking the memories that shouldn't still be painful, but that nevertheless were.

Gil threw his pillow at them.

It sailed through the air to land a few inches short of Francis' bed, and the damn frenchie just sighed and rolled over in his sleep.

"_Dummkopf," _Gil muttered.

Gilbird chirped sympathetically – at least, Gil liked to think it was sympathetic; it sounded more like an angry _shut-up-and-let-me-sleep_ chirp, but surely Gilbird wouldn't be so cruel – and Gil patted him gratefully before getting up and padding downstairs.

His mind raced with thoughts like _what are you doing,_ and _you'll die of cold,_ and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ludwig that was just repeating _this is not a good idea_. Luckily, over the years Gil had got very good at ignoring his thoughts and running on instinct, and by the time he'd crept outside the doubts were silenced.

Once outside Gil made his way to the lake and sat down on the bank, feeling like a moody teenager and not really giving a shit. He needed to think, and Gil had never been very good at thinking; there were always too many distractions.

Gil had noticed the other boy on the very first day of school, and it had been the inexplicable urge to protect him that scared the crap out of Gil and sent him scurrying in the opposite direction. He was _not_ a mother hen (except in his capacity as Gilbird's mother, and that was different).

Curiosity had eventually driven him to find out more about the boy, the one whom no one seemed to know, who seemed almost to flicker in and out of existence. It hadn't been until second year when Gil had learnt his name – Matthew Jones.

"Matthew Jones," Gil whispered, wanting to hear the name aloud.

He yelped and very nearly fell into the lake in surprise when there was a quiet, "Yes?" from somewhere behind him.

"Holy shit! Wh-wh-what?" He stuttered.

Violet eyes blinked, and had Gil imagined that spark of amusement?

Matthew tilted his head in confusion. "You said my name, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but–" Luckily for him, Gil's brain intervened at this point, drawing his attention to the fact that the continuation of that _(I was just wanting to hear your name out loud) _would seem rather odd. "But I didn't expect you to answer so, well… You know. I didn't expect it," he said lamely.

Matthew arched an eyebrow and shrugged. "OK. So, what are you doing out here?"

"What are _you_ doing out here?" Gil countered, playing for time while he thought of a reason more normal than_ I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about you_.

"I was just feeding the thestrals," Matthew said.

"I was talking to the giant squid." Gil said with a flash of inspiration. Not one of his best excuses, but having Matthew so close made it very difficult to think.

Matthew looked at him in surprise. "I didn't know architeuthidae could communicate with humans."

Gil blinked. "Archy-what now?"

Matthew laughed, and Gil's heart absolutely did _not_ skip, and the Ludwig-voice that intoned something boring about denial was absolutely _not_ right. "Architeuthidae; it's the scientific name for the giant squid family."

"Oh." Gil changed the topic quickly, before he said something even more stupid. "What's a thestral?"

_Well, the plan not to say anything stupid certainly backfired, _Ludwig-voice said snidely.

"They're like skeletal winged horses. They're invisible to those that haven't seen death."

"They sound creepy," Gil blurted.

Matthew glared at him. He reached into his bag and took out some ham, throwing it to the air. It disappeared, and he patted an empty space. "You hurt her feelings," he said reproachfully. "Shhh, girl, he didn't mean it. Say sorry," he said to Gil.

"What?" Gil said stupidly.

Matthew's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't understand what it's like to be invisible, but let me tell you just because other people can't see you, it doesn't mean you don't exist or have feelings. Apologise to her now!"

_Damn, Mattie looks hot when he's angry…_

"I'm sorry," Gil said hastily. "I was just being an idiot. I mean, it must be pretty awesome to be able to fly, and if I were invisible it'd be ridiculously useful for pranking. Plus it must be fun to scare the shit out of people."

"It is useful," Matthew smirked.

Gil blinked. _Could it be?_ "Last term, when McGonagall transfigured and her cat form was fluorescent yellow, was that you?"

Matthew blushed and muttered something.

"What?"

"Yeah…" he mumbled. "I didn't mean to get you guys into trouble for it, but when I told her it was me she was too busy being angry to listen to me. I don't think she even saw I was there…"

"And that time when the Bloody Baron was forced to sing love songs and dance a jig whenever one of the professors appeared?"

Matthew nodded.

"And that time when –"

"Um, if it wasn't you, there's a pretty good chance it was me."

Gil crowed in delight. "Mattie, you're brilliant!"

Matthew's head snapped up in surprise, and he looked so cute with his mouth in that perfect 'o' of surprise that before Gil knew what was happening, he'd kissed Matthew – softly, just the merest brush of lips.

And then he freaked out and ran.

* * *

><p>Matthew froze in shock.<p>

If that had been a dream Gilbert wouldn't have run off, but if it had been reality Gilbert wouldn't have kissed him in the first place.

He pressed his fingers to his lips, and suddenly his knees felt weak and he sat down with a thump on the grass. His bear shuffled up and sat in front of him.

"What just happened, Kujamiro?"

"Who are you?" The bear replied.

Matthew sighed and tossed another piece of ham to the thestral. She nuzzled his shoulder in thanks. "I'm Matthew, Kumanajo. We've known each other for years now, you should at least know my name."

Jirokuma sat down heavily on his lap. "Time to go back?"

_He was probably just caught up in the moment, _Matthew reflected_. Or maybe he thought I was Al._

There was no other explanation for it. Reading too much into that one small kiss would just leave him with a broken heart and more lonely than before. He should just calm down and go back to the dorm.

Nodding decisively, Matthew stood up and headed back, waving farewell to the thestrals.

(Completely separate from his rational mind, Matthew's heart was pounding uncontrollably.)

* * *

><p>The next morning saw Gil thanking God for the fact that he had insomnia when he was small, because it meant that his body was used to not getting a lot of sleep. Even the three hours he'd got last night gave him plenty of energy to run on.<p>

After he'd arrived back at the dorm at two in the morning, he'd spent two and a half hours pacing and generally freaking out, unawesome as it was to admit. Then he'd spent half an hour congratulating himself on having such good taste as to fall in love (not that this was love, it was just a crush!) with someone as awesome as Matthew.

Antonio and Francis spent the day unsuccessfully trying to wheedle Matthew's name out of him, but Gil really didn't want to have to tell Francis that he was in love with his cousin.

Eventually Arthur, being the kind friend that he is, brought Gil a cup of tea and told the others to stop bothering him, and that Gil would tell them when he was ready. Gil was so grateful that even though he didn't like tea he actually forced himself to down it in one, and it was then that he noticed the faint aftertaste of Veritaserum.

"You tricked me!" He shrieked. He threw the cup at Arthur. "J-Judas!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic."

"I thought you were my friend. I should have known it was a poisoned chalice! As if you'd ever be nice enough to get me a drink…" He sniffed pathetically.

Arthur just laughed. "Don't waste your effort. You've guilt-tripped me so often that it takes a professional to force it on me."

"_Merci,_ Arthur," Francis smirked, lightly kissing Arthur on the cheek. Arthur scowled, and for a moment Gil had hopes that maybe they'd start fighting and he could slip away unnoticed. Instead, Arthur turned an interesting shade of pink (Gil made a mental note to file the moment away for future blackmail) and pretended not to notice.

Gil pouted. "How much did you pay him, Fanny? Don't tell me, thirty pieces of silver."

Arthur sighed in exasperation. "For the _n_th time, Gil, you're not Jesus!"

"Thirty galleons, actually." Francis put in. "Antonio! Stop staring at Lovino, you'll want to hear this," he said smugly. "So, Gil, who is it that you like?"

"Matthew Jones," Gil said sulkily.

Francis held out his hand to Antonio. "Pay up."

Antonio blinked. "Who's Matthew Jones?"

"He's my cousin. You didn't know?" Francis said in surprise. He turned to Gil. "Does he still have problems with being invisible?"

Gil nodded.

"I only noticed him when we were paired up in Herbology," Arthur admitted. "He's a great guy though. You better not hurt him!" He said threateningly.

Gil pouted. "He's the one that hurt me!"

Francis and Arthur exchanged looks. _"Mattie_ did?"

Gil glanced around the commonroom, but other than a couple of second years playing Exploding Snap, it was empty. "Yeah." Gil sighed. "It happened last year…"

"What happened?" Antonio asked curiously.

"Speaking of which, technically, it's Arthur's fault."

Arthur spluttered and choked on his tea. _"What?"_

"Remember? I asked you how I should confess to the person I liked, and you said that I should write them a poem –"

"Yes, and then I immediately retracted that statement because you and poetry do not mix."

"– and then you told me I should just _give_ them a poem, and write a message. So I did! Well, I didn't write a message, because I wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't sound stupid, but I wrote my name so he'd know it was me. I even used that sonnet you told me to, that one by – what's his name, Shagspear?"

Arthur winced at the garbled name. "Shakespeare. Sonnet 116, wasn't it?"

Gil shrugged. "Could be. So yeah, I gave this letter to one of the owls and told it to deliver it to Matthew Jones. And eventually I got a reply."

"And?" Antonio said.

Gil sighed morosely. "I have it upstairs somewhere, I can show you. _Accio_ stupid depressing rejection letter!"

The letter flew in, narrowly missing clipping Antonio on the back of the head. Gil scowled at it and began picking at the frayed edge of one of the faded green cushions while the other three read.

Arthur immediately frowned. "Gil, this isn't Mattie's handwriting –"

Gil clapped his hands over his ears. "No! False hope, no!"

For the next few minutes Gil ignored the muffled murmurs of conversation, focussing instead on trying to glare the fire into submission. Eventually, Antonio tugged his hands away from his ears, beaming brilliantly.

"Gil, this isn't from Matthias!"

"Of course not, it's from Matthew." Gil grumbled.

"It's not from Matthew!" Antonio said excitedly. It was almost impressive how he could still sound so enthusiastic even on the second try.

"And how d'you know that?"

Arthur sighed. "It's obvious, really."

"Damn it, Artie, don't be such a Ravenclaw!" Gil pouted.

"For one thing, the handwriting is wrong. This scrawl is nothing like Mattie's neat writing. It's more like Al's – because this letter _is_ from Al."

Gil blinked. "How do you know?"

Arthur sighed again with the air of the long-suffering. "Did you even read it? 'Dear Gil, Sorry I can't return your feelings. I'm in love with Kiku. Cute poem though, even if it is funny language!'"

"So? Maybe Mattie likes Kiku too."

"But does that _sound_ like Mattie? Mattie knows the difference between 'funny language' and the genius of Shakespeare. Al, on the other hand, is an airhead. He's sweet, but he's got about as many brain cells as a length of bubblewrap."

Gil looked at him suspiciously.

"Oh, screw it. Francis, will you please take over? I don't think I have the patience to explain to this idiot."

"Hey! I'm right here!" Gil threw a cushion at him indignantly, and with a flick of his wrist Arthur sent it back to flump against his face.

Things nearly descended into a full-scale fight, but Antonio stepped in front of Gil and pointed out, "This Matt guy is invisible!"

"Matthew," the other three corrected.

Antonio shrugged. "That just proves my point. You sent one of the school owls, probably not one of the brightest crayons in the box, to find a kid unknown even to his _classmates_. Obviously the owl took it to Al instead – you said they're twins, right?" He asked Francis.

Francis nodded. "Think about it, Gil. They do look quite similar, both with blond hair and glasses."

Gil's mouth hung open in surprise. _Maybe they have a point…_

And if they did, wouldn't that be awesome?

Arthur glanced at him uncertainly. "Do you think he's brain damaged?"

"_Non, c'est les effets d'amour,"_ Francis sighed, grinning in that way that normally creeped Gil out; right now he couldn't care less.

Gil's head was spinning dizzily, and he seemed to have forgotten how to form coherent sentences. "You mean… Maybe? Likes me? Mattie?"

Antonio laughed happily. _"Ve, amigo!_ And tell him to his face, this time."

Gil nodded, grin painfully wide, and ran out of the commonroom.

"_Bonne chance!"_ Francis called.

* * *

><p>Matthew was sitting by the lake with his roommate Feliciano, who had been chatting at him for the past half hour. Matthew hadn't heard any of what he'd been saying. Part of him felt bad, but at the same time he knew Feli wouldn't really mind.<p>

"…and then I ate it but – oh, look, there's Gil! I wonder if he's seen Ludwig? Gil! Gil, over here! _Ve~" _He waved enthusiastically.

Matthew's head snapped up and sure enough, there was Gilbert, jogging towards them with a worryingly bright grin.

"Feli, before you say anything I would like to tell you to shut up and go away. I need to talk to Matthew."

"_Ve~?_ Okay then, I'll see you back at the palace, Mattie! Bye!" Feliciano got up and skipped off, humming cheerfully to himself.

"What? Wait, Feli –"

Feliciano didn't hear him.

Matthew stood warily. "What do you want, Gilbert?"

Gilbert's grin widened. "I love you, Mattie. Will you go out with me?"

For a moment, Matthew couldn't speak.

He felt sick. He should have known this would happen. Gilbert was in love with Al – he'd confessed to him last year. But Matthew and Al looked similar, even if their personalities were polar opposites. In Matthew, Gilbert had found the perfect replacement.

Gilbert was just going to use him.

Matthew tried to force back the tears that pricked his eyes. "You absolute jerk." He whispered.

Gilbert looked confused for a moment, Cheshire cat grin wavering, and Matthew ploughed on, voice growing louder as he let out his anger. "You are the most cruel person I have ever been unlucky enough to know! No, I will not go out with you. Not now, not ever. And for the record, even if me and Al _do_ look similar, that doesn't mean we're the same person, so you can't just go out with either one of us interchangeably. Al _rejected_ you; get over it, and don't come to me for comfort because I'm _not_ going to give it you!"

This time it was Matthew's turn to flee. He never normally spoke so much – he didn't think he'd shouted in his life.

How was it that Gilbert Beilschmidt could so easily overturn all Matthew's rational defences? Could so easily force him to show emotions he'd always hidden?

He hadn't expected Gilbert to follow him, but he did. He was shouting, but Matthew ignored him, focussing instead on trying to shove back his emotions. The tears still blurred his vision, and Matthew wiped them away furiously, hating himself for being so affected.

It was inevitable when he tripped, and before he could move Gilbert was blocking his way, out of breath but looking inexplicably happy.

Gilbert crouched down in front of him and raised one hand, placing it on Matthew's face. Matthew tried to turn his face away, but for some reason his muscles wouldn't obey him. Gilbert's thumb gently stroked his cheek, and against his will Matthew sighed and let his eyes flutter shut.

"I'm not in love with Al, Mattie."

Mattie's eyes flew open and he glared at Gilbert – but the other boy's red eyes were unwavering and earnest.

"I was trying to send the letter to you, but the _dummkopf_ owl gave it to Al instead. I thought _you_ had rejected me, and it wasn't until today that my friends pointed out that I'm an idiot," Gil explained. He paused, and added, "Well, obviously they tell me I'm an idiot a lot, but most of the time I don't really listen because someone as awesome as me –"

Matthew leant forwards and kissed Gilbert on the cheek, holding his breath as he waited for a reaction.

Gilbert blushed almost as deep red as his eyes. "Can I kiss you?" He mumbled, and Matthew almost laughed to see the brash Prussian so unsure. In answer, he leant forwards and pressed their lips together.

There was a fraction pause, and then Gilbert swiped his tongue across Matthew's bottom lip – tentatively, as if he was worried that Matthew would push him away. Matthew parted his lips at once and was rewarded with a quiet growl as Gilbert moved impossibly close, tilting his head slightly so as to kiss him more thoroughly.

Once they parted Gilbert didn't move far; their every breath mingled in the space between them. When Gilbert spoke, Matthew could feel the whispered words against his lips.

"So, does this mean you'll rethink 'not now, now ever'?"

Matthew gave his reply in the form of a kiss.

* * *

><p>Feel free to review :)<p> 


	9. Chapter Seven

Arthur was confused.

Not just confused; he was bewildered, flummoxed, discombobulated. He didn't know what to think after yesterday.

Francis had looked in the Mirror of Erised and seen Arthur.

Arthur thought back to the day by the lake, when Francis had told him he loved him.

Could he have been serious?

No, impossible. Maybe he already knew of the mirror's powers; maybe he was toying with Arthur again. But somehow Arthur doubted it. Francis may have been a good actor, but no one could have faked that expression.

Arthur shook his head as if it would toss aside his thoughts and quickened his pace, pushing past a timid group of First Years. He arrived at the library and headed for the back, looking for a place he could lose himself quietly in books.

He turned a corner into one of the lanes of Muggle history books - people hardly ever went down there, so Arthur was sure he'd be left undisturbed – and nearly ran straight into Sadiq and Herakles in a slightly compromising position.

They were kissing.

Arthur nearly did a double take.

They were _kissing?_

But they were enemies, hated each other, everyone _knew_ that! Yet it was unmistakable. Sadiq had pushed Herakles up against the bookshelf (those poor, darling books), one hand curled possessively round Herakles' hip as he kissed him fiercely - and _oh God did he just hear one of them moan?_

Reeling with surprise, Arthur turned and fled before he interrupted or, worse, they took it a step further.

Arthur was pacing towards the disused 'Ministry Approved' section when he remembered what Al had said.

_"You know, those two are kinda like you and Francis."_

Was it possible that Al was hiding an unexpectedly perceptive side underneath his obtuse demeanor?

And more importantly – if so, what did that tell Arthur about himself and Francis?

* * *

><p>In the end, Arthur never got round to reading, because before he reached his destination he caught sight of Francis. For some reason he found himself standing in front of Francis without even consciously deciding it.<p>

Francis looked up as soon as Arthur approached, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Um… Do you want help studying?" Arthur said lamely.

Francis opened his mouth to reply but Arthur cut over him. "There's no question about it," he said firmly. "An idiot like you needs all the help he can get, and if someone like _me_ is offering you should be on your knees in gratitude by now, Frog."

Francis smirked. "On my knees? Arthur, if _that's_ what you want, I'd be more than happy to oblige…"

Arthur flushed and tried unsuccessfully to form an angry tirade. The thought of Francis on his knees was all too distracting, and it took an immense effort for Arthur to quell the images it invoked. Finally he choked out, "Dammit, Francis, if you're just going to be like that…"

"I'm sorry," Francis said, looking sufficiently contrite. "You're right." He cleared a stack off books from the seat next to him. "Help?"

Scowling, Arthur sat down. Francis passed him a book, and Arthur cursed inwardly.

He'd been planning on reading alone, so he'd brought his glasses. He looked hopefully at the page, but when he tried to focus the words just swam tauntingly. Sighing inwardly, he reached into his robes and took out his glasses.

"Arthur… You wear glasses?" Francis said in surprise.

Arthur hoped he wasn't blushing. "Yeah, I need them for reading."

"I've never seen you wearing them before – do you use contacts?"

Arthur nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't like wearing my glasses. They look stupid." He winced at the petulant tone.

"They look cute," Francis said seriously. "You should wear them more often," he added, brushing back Arthur's hair absently.

If he hadn't been before, Arthur was definitely blushing now; he could feel the heat on his face. He stammered a thank you, and quickly fixed his gaze on the page.

He could feel Francis watching him the whole time he was trying to read.

It would be a lie to say it didn't affect him. The intensity rendered Francis' thoughts almost tangible, and Arthur got the feeling that if he looked at Francis he'd know for sure what Francis felt towards him.

But he was afraid to find out. Bending his head over the book, Arthur tried to force himself to concentrate.

Later, he wouldn't remember a single word.

* * *

><p>He and Francis were making their way back from the library when Arthur caught sight of her. She was darting around, beckoning furiously. Arthur knew that the very fact she was there meant something serious; it was nigh impossible for her to be in such an environment, heavy with magic so different from her own.<p>

Tinkerbell had come to Hogwarts.

Arthur opened his mouth to explain it to Francis, but Tinkerbell shook her head furiously and pressed a finger to her lips. The message was clear. He couldn't tell anyone.

"Um, Francis, I have to go."

Francis stopped. "What?"

"Yeah, I, um, I have to shit. I'll see you later?"

Francis quirked an eyebrow but nodded hesitantly. _"Oui, bien sûr."_

"Thanks," Arthur sighed. He followed Tinkerbell into an empty classroom, hoping Francis wouldn't notice the fact that the toilets were in the opposite direction.

"What is it, Tink?" He hissed. "I thought it was difficult for you to be here!"

"Yes, yes, it is difficult," Tinkerbell chimed. "But it's a difficult situation. You remember Bessie?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Elizabeth. The dragon? It was her that fought off the Spanish Armada, long ago. Burnt all their ships?"

"Oh, of course. What about her?"

"She's laid an egg. But it needs protecting."

"Why? From what?"

"Like I said, difficult situation. Bessie is – I suppose the nearest approximation would be to call her the queen of the dragons. Long story short, succession rights, a lot of powerful dragons want the dragonet dead. So I said you could take care of it."

_"What?"_

Tinkerbell pealed a curse. "Arthur, I can't stay much longer, you have to follow me now!"

She flickered past him, and Arthur hurried after her. "Why can't I tell Francis?"

Rushing round a corner, he ran straight into Francis.

"Arthur?" He narrowed his eyes. "What can't you tell me?"

"Um, what? Nothing, I…" Tinkerbell chimed angrily from where she hovered above Francis' head.

Following the line of his gaze, Francis looked around. He saw nothing, of course, but he seemed to realise that there was something more than just Arthur being odd.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur caught sight of Rebecca. "Hey!" He called desperately. "Francis was just wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him?"

She rushed over immediately. Arthur took his chance and fled. Ignoring the death glare Francis gave him, he sidestepped the Slytherin and hurried after Tinkerbell.

"Sorry, Francis, I have to go!" He called over his shoulder, leaving his friend to his fate.

* * *

><p>As soon as they were out of Hogwarts, Tinkerbell slowed down slightly. Magic hovered over the whole of the Hogwarts grounds, but it was strongest inside the castle; it was a lot easier for her now that they'd left.<p>

Tinkerbell led him deep into the Forbidden Forest, winding along a maze of half-paths overgrown with vines that hissed and snapped threateningly. Eventually they reached a ramshackle cabin, consumed with plants. Arthur had needed to get out his wand more than once along the way; the creatures of the forest – the forest _itself_ – knew he was an interloper, and the response was hostile.

Inside the cabin the darkness was even thicker than under the tangle of the trees. Arthur cast _Lumos_ to look around and caught his breath.

There was a table in the middle of the room, with high sides that looked like they'd been hastily hammered in place. The top of the table was covered with a nest of moss, feathers, and some ostentatiously gem encrusted jewellery.

"They like precious things," Tinkerbell explained.

In the centre of the makeshift nest nestled a curved dome of delicate pale blue shade.

The egg looked like porcelain, but despite its fragility it looked resilient, as if there was a hidden strength to it. Arthur touched it gingerly, and it felt warm and somehow expectant. There was a tremor in response to the contact, as if inside the egg the dragonet had uncurled slightly or shaken itself out.

"You'll take care of it, right?" Tinkerbell chimed anxiously.

Arthur nearly had a heart attack. "What? But, Tink, I can't! I have absolutely no idea how to take care of a dragon. How will I feed it? Not to mention the difficulty of sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest every night without anyone noticing!"

She pouted. "Please, Arthur? If you don't take care of him, he'll die! This is the only place he'll be safe. If he were to leave the protection of the Hogwarts wards, they'd find him at once. It won't be for long, anyway – just until he's old enough to take care of himself."

Arthur sighed. "Fine," He grumbled. If he could rope in a couple of his friends to help, it wouldn't be so bad. Gil especially would probably be ridiculously overexcited by the whole shenanigan.

_Bugger._ He couldn't tell his friends. Hiding a dragon in the Forbidden Forest would get him in no end of trouble if he was caught, and Gil was already on his final warning. He didn't want to put any of his friends in a difficult situation.

"Dammit, Tink! You owe me." Arthur tried to sound cross, but judging from Tinkerbell's smug expression it wasn't really working.

"Absolutely," she chimed. "Now, he's due to hatch in a few days, but you never know so bring food from tomorrow. Bye now! Good luck." With that, Tinkerbell turned to leave.

"Wait, Tink! What does he eat? How will I take care of him? And what the hell is his name?"

"I'm sure you'll work it out!" Tinkerbell said airily as she disappeared out of sight.

Arthur groaned and looked morosely at the egg. "What am I supposed to do with you?" He reached over and placed his palm over the domed shell. "If possible, can you please hold off on hatching for as long as possible? I'm not prepared for this."

The egg was warm to the touch. Arthur sighed. "Sorry, I shouldn't be burdening you with my problems. You aren't even hatched yet, are you?"

As he said this, Arthur suddenly realised how idiotic he sounded. Talking to an as yet inanimate object, apologising to it. Feeling foolish, he left the hut.

He only just managed to stop himself from waving the egg goodbye.

* * *

><p>Once he'd left the Forest, Arthur made a beeline for the library. He needed to look up some books on dragons, find out enough about them to be able to take care of one for the next however-many weeks.<p>

The thought that it may even be _months_ before the dragonet was fully-grown was too horrifying to think about.

Half an hour later, Arthur was weighed down with a stack of books high enough to eclipse his vision entirely. It was almost inevitable that he crashed into someone.

"Shit." He cursed as all his books went flying. "Sorry about that," he said, kneeling to pick them up.

"Don't worry about it," said the person he'd collided with. Arthur recognised the voice with a flash of horror – the slight French accent was unmistakable.

Francis handed him back his books and asked curiously, "That's a lot of books on dragons. What are they all for?"

"Um, essay." Arthur lied.

Francis frowned. "For Herbology? Or is it something that I've forgotten about?"

_Oh, shit._ Of course – they had almost exactly the same lessons. "It's for Al. Care of Magical Creatures. He has Quidditch practice now, so he asked me to pick them up for him."

Fortunately, Francis didn't notice the lie – probably less down to Arthur's skill than to the fact that he seemed to have remembered that he was pissed at Arthur.

Francis growled and pinned him back against the shelves, closing off Arthur's escape routes. "You'd better have a pretty good explanation for that, _mon cher_. Rebecca is…" He shuddered. "I'll never be the same again, Arthur."

"Um…" Arthur looked away guiltily. It had been necessary, but cruel. Francis had told him about the girl before, and she sounded terrifying. "Sorry, I had to talk to Hagrid. About the essay, you know?"

Francis' eyes narrowed. "You're a terrible liar, Arthur."

Arthur sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. I can't really explain it, though – you're just going to have to trust me," he said pleadingly.

After a short while, Francis relented and said, _"D'accord._ I forgive you for not telling me the truth."

Arthur beamed. "Thank you! Honestly, I really am –"

_"But."_ Francis leaned in slightly closer, so that his lips brushed the shell of Arthur's ear. "I haven't forgiven you for Rebecca," he murmured.

Arthur shivered slightly and before he could stop himself, moved fractionally closer. Francis' eyes darkened slightly and his gaze flickered down to Arthur's lips. Arthur felt a wave of hot desire rush through him, pooling in his abdomen.

He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Oh," he rasped.

Francis smiled, catlike. "In exchange, I'm taking you to Hogsmeade. On a_ date."_ He said. "It'll have to be next weekend, because this Saturday I have to go with that idiot Rebecca, thanks to _you."_

Arthur opened his mouth to protest but before he could say anything Francis kissed him, and before he could stop himself he was kissing back. Francis moaned, and suddenly Arthur _forgot_ about the dragon, about the books pressing painfully into his back, about the fact that Francis was fickle as autumn skies, as instead everything narrowed to him and Francis and that one perfect contact.

It was over too quickly, but when Francis pulled back Arthur was vaguely pleased to see that he looked dazed, as if for once he wasn't in control.

"Deal?" Francis panted.

_What?_ Arthur nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, but assuming that whatever it was had to be a good thing after a kiss like _that_.

Francis smirked, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

That expression couldn't be a good thing. Shoving particular distracting thoughts to the back of his mind, Arthur concentrated his Ravenclaw mind on unravelling what had just happened.

"But that's not fair!" He said when he realised what he'd just agreed to. "I take it back."

Francis somehow managed to look even more smug. "It was sealed with a kiss, Arthur – you can't renege. Besides, _mon cher,"_ he brushed a strand of hair back from Arthur's face, "All's fair in love and war."

He had disappeared before Arthur could argue back.

* * *

><p>Feel free to review :)<p> 


	10. Chapter Eight

Last night had put Francis in a ridiculously good mood, one that wasn't even dampened by Gil waking him up by dumping Gilbird on his face and jumping on his bed.

"Morning, Gil, Gilbird," Francis yawned. "Please don't squash me."

Gil stopped jumping and pouted. "Dammit, Fanny, you're no fun! Normally in the mornings you're all pissy, and it's hilarious. What put you in such a good mood?"

Francis leered.

Gil squawked and covered his eyes. "No! Stop! That pervert expression is making my eyes bleed." He peeked out through a crack between his middle and ring finger. "Did you and Artie get down and dirty?" He asked apprehensively.

Francis shook his head with a flicker of anxiety. "Why? Would it be a problem?"

"Not unless you do it before Christmas. Me and Lizbet've got a bet on." He said bluntly. "Alrighty then, to breakfast!"

Francis pulled on his robes and made his way downstairs. Rebecca simpered at him from the other end of the table, and he smiled tautly – enough to be polite but not enough to encourage her.

Before signalling for the food to appear, McGonagall stood to make an announcement, one that soon racked Francis' good mood up another notch.

"This is not to spread panic, but I must inform you that a dementor has recently left Azkaban."

A rash of whispers flurried through the hall. Francis frowned in confusion. Dementors?

McGonagall peered sternly at the students over her spectacles, and silence returned.

"Now, while I am sure the Ministry is doing everything possible to ensure that this irritating insurrectionary is brought back, I request that all students be on their guard. In light of this, this weekend's visit to Hogsmeade is to be cancelled, and students are to be in their dorms by six o'clock at the latest."

A collective groan went around the hall, with disappointment written on every student's face – excluding Francis. The fact that he wouldn't have to spend time with Rebecca that weekend completely overshadowed the question of what a dementor was.

Across the hall, Arthur caught his eye with a question. Francis smirked and shook his head slightly. No, this didn't change anything. Arthur still had to go out with him.

Arthur pouted, but he didn't look upset.

"In other news, the Yule Ball is drawing closer; I'm sure it is hardly necessary to remind you to dust down your dress robes and brush up on your waltzing." McGonagall went on. "Furthermore, while I understand that this ceremony creates a lot of excitement, I trust all of you will be on your best behaviour, especially given the circumstances." She focussed this at the Slytherin table, specifically towards a certain albino who was wolfing down his sausages with no regard for anything but breakfast.

Francis could almost see McGonagall deflate.

* * *

><p>Apparently, Francis was the only person who didn't know what a dementor was. When they'd got to Charms and Professor Flitwick had announced that they'd be learning the Patronus charm to combat dementors, he'd given way to his embarrassment and asked Antonio.<p>

"'Tonio, I know this will probably sound like a stupid question, but what's a dementor?"

Antonio's green eyes went round in surprise. "You don't know what a _dementor_ is?"

Francis shook his head.

Antonio shivered. "You're lucky. They're horrible."

"They guard the prisoners at Azkaban, the top security prison for the hardcore criminals." Gil said, momentarily breaking off from tugging on Roderich's _Mariazell_.

"Dementors prey on fear and sadness," Antonio explained. "When you get near them there's this horrible feeling, like nothing will ever be good again. They have this attack, called the Dementors' Kiss, where they tear out your soul." He shuddered.

Flitwick's reedy voice cut over their conversation. "Now, students, pick up your wands! Focus on the happiest memory you have, and when you're ready utter the words _Expecto patronum_…"

That lesson was the first Francis had experienced where Professor Flitwick didn't once have to call for silence. Along with all the other students, Francis turned his attention to learning: the thought of a creature like that still haunted his mind.

By the end of the single lesson, most of the students had managed to produce a simple shield patronus. Only one student, Al, had managed a full patronus – an eagle, which circled the room above all their heads in a flurry of glowing light.

"Yes, yes, excellent, Mr Jones!" Squeaked Flitwick excitedly.

There was a murmur of admiration and Francis suddenly thought of Arthur's wandless magic. Could Arthur cast a patronus, too?

The next lesson was potions; he'd ask then. Arthur was the sort of person who would wander around after the newly imposed curfew despite knowing that it was there for a reason, and it was hopeless to deny that Francis would worry if he wasn't sure Arthur was safe.

* * *

><p>Since the announcement, everyone was a bit more on edge. Francis glanced up at Professor Alaric, who'd set them to essay writing and was currently staring, expression uncharacteristically absent, into the distance. He hastily penned a note and sent it to Arthur.<p>

**_Tonio told me what a dementor is._**

Arthur frowned and passed back the note. Just one word scrawled across the parchment.

_And?_

**_We learnt the Patronus in Charms today._**

_Do you have a point, other than to interrupt my thought process?_

Francis stifled a laugh.

**_Oh, I'm aiming to do both, mon cher._**

Arthur turned around to make sure he had Francis' attention. Then, movements deliberate, Arthur scrumpled up the note and tossed it in his cauldron, making it bubble ominously. Then he picked up his quill and went back to working.

Francis was undeterred.

**_Can you cast a Patronus?_**

Arthur made to throw the note away again, but Gil snatched it up and wrote,

**He can. Tink made him learn because she isn't so great with letters, what with being about three inches tall.**

Francis frowned.

**_Tink?_**

**His fairy friend. Artie sees invisible shit. Isn't that right, my darling little schizo?**

Giving in to his curiosity, Arthur _accio_ed the note out of Francis' hands before he could reply, glaring at Gil when he read it and realised how well the Prussian knew him.

The piece of parchment quickly met the same fate as its predecessor.

Francis persisted.

**_Then that's who you were talking to yesterday, when you said you had to shit? Tink?_**

Arthur held the note for a long time - he must have reread it at least four times before he scribbled something and passed the note to Francis.

_Yes._

"Francis Bonnefoy, unless you would like to spend this evening in detention, I suggest that you get back to work," Alaric said coolly.

_"Oui, monsieur,"_ Francis said meekly, bending back over his essay.

From then on it seemed that, after his spate of good luck that morning, the world was trying to balance things out. Alaric kept an eye on Francis for the rest of the lesson, and as soon as the bell rang Arthur shot out of the classroom. Francis didn't see him again for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

><p>For the thousandth time, Arthur thanked his First Year self for choosing Ravenclaw over Slytherin.<p>

The Ravenclaw reputation of unrelenting studiousness meant that Arthur was able to get away with a lot more than he would otherwise – the teachers simply didn't think that a hardworking Ravenclaw would gratuitously break the rules in the way Arthur did.

That, combined with the fact that Arthur was a Prefect, rendered him almost untouchable. If he was caught sneaking around the castle after curfew, he'd just brazen it out with some excuse about Prefect duties or studying – not that he was caught often.

Ever since the dragon's egg had arrived, Arthur had become even more skilled at the Disillusionment Charm, and by now he knew his way around the Forbidden Forest like the back of his hand.

"Evening, egg," he said, pushing open the door to the shack.

The noise echoed loudly in the silence of the night, and Arthur caught his breath.

"Egg?" He said cautiously. He stepped closer, and sure enough there was a fine fracture running along the luminous surface of the egg.

Seconds later, there was a cobweb of cracks and a tiny wing burst out of the egg, scattering fragments of shell.

Arthur caught his breath as a miniature dragon forced his way out, ebony scales shining wetly.

He bobbed unevenly in the air, paper-thin wings beating furiously. His delicately tapering tail lashed back and forth and he opened its jaws to reveal small but sharp teeth, like fragmented pearl.

And then he blew a ribbon of flame straight at Arthur.

Arthur threw himself backwards and landed with a thump on the floor, bruised but thankfully not barbecued. The dragonet fluttered awkwardly towards him and hovered inches in front of his face –_ please God don't breathe fire again,_ Arthur prayed, as the dragon opened his mouth for the second time and –

"I," he declared angrily, "am a she!"

Arthur blinked. Dragons could talk?

"God," the dragonet went on, huffing a curl of smoke, "you have no idea how irritating it was to be stuck in that stupid egg, listening to all of you talking about me as if I were a boy!"

He – she – fixed Arthur with an amber glare and said, "Well? Aren't you going to give me some food? You do realise I haven't eaten anything since I was born."

Arthur recovered himself. "Well, you were only born all of three minutes ago." The dragonet looked ready to burn him again, so he hastily drew out the raw steak he'd stolen from the kitchen before he left.

She looked at it distastefully. "Raw?"

"The books said –"

"Ignore the books, I have gourmet tastes," the dragonet said. She delicately blew out a stream of fire, and Arthur yelped as she nearly torched his hand. When she snapped her jaws shut, it was cooked.

She wolfed it down quickly and flicked open her wings to take off back to her perch.

After a few seconds of flapping her wings and not moving she looked at Arthur expectantly. "I think I have eaten too much. Too heavy to fly. You'll have to carry me."

"Of course." Arthur held out his hands and she hopped on in a slightly ungainly fashion, sharp claws gouging his palms. He carried her over to the table and swept the eggshell out of the way for her to sit down.

She settled herself down and looked around with an expression that looked suspiciously like a pout. "It's not very comfy, is it?"

"I'll bring you some cushions," Arthur promised.

"Alright," she said.

Arthur frowned. "You know, considering how advanced you are, you don't have very good manners. When someone offers you something, you say thank you."

"Thank you," the dragonet said sulkily.

Arthur smiled and petted her soft snout. "That's better."

He suddenly realised what had happened and felt a flash of horror. He was turning into a mother hen.

"I like you," the dragonet said suddenly. "Even if you are a bit stupid. If you want, you may give me a name."

Arthur blinked. "You don't have a name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I don't have a name, I was only just born! Like I said, a bit stupid."

"Um…" Arthur's mind went blank. The dragon nudged him expectantly. "Libellule," he blurted.

The dragonet cocked her head. "Libellule?" She said cautiously.

Arthur nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Libby for short."

The dragon lashed her tail happily. "I like that name. Sounds regal; fitting for a princess. Libellule it is.

She yawned and stretched out on her table. "You may go now, Arthur. Return tomorrow, and bring me another steak. I like my meat medium rare."

"Oh, no," Arthur said hastily. "I don't cook. It doesn't agree with me. I'll bring you the meat and you can do that little trick you did before."

"Okay then. See you tomorrow, Arthur."

Arthur laughed. "See you, Libby."

"And don't forget the cushions!"

* * *

><p>When Francis woke up, it was because he was half-drowning in the Prefects' bathroom.<p>

Shelley had warned Francis that Rebecca was looking for him, and he hadn't fancied running into her at the Slytherin common room that evening. Instead, he'd gone into hiding in the Prefects' bathroom and managed to fall asleep in the luxurious bathtub/swimming pool.

His fingertips were grooved from being in the water so long; Francis wrinkled his nose in distaste and muttered a drying charm.

Looking on the bright side, his skin was now fantastically soft.

He was in the middle of admiring himself when there was a yelp of surprise.

"Jesus Christ, Frog, you do realise you're _naked?"_ Arthur said in horror, bright red with embarrassment.

Francis opened his mouth in faux shock. _"Mon dieu,_ so I am! How odd – and how perceptive of you to notice!"

Arthur spluttered.

"Were you going to take a bath?" Francis asked, tugging on his pyjamas.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, I just came in here to fix my makeup." He said sarcastically.

Francis pretended not to see the sarcasm. _"Vraiment? _Arthur, I never knew you were secretly a female."

Obviously deciding not to dignify that with a response, Arthur sighed and reached past Francis for a towel.

As he did so Francis saw a flash of red and caught Arthur's wrist, turning his hands over to look at his palms. They were covered with scratches, like tiny claw marks.

"What happened?"

Arthur snatched his hands back, expression suddenly closed. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Arthur –"

"It's nothing!" Arthur snapped.

Francis stepped back, hurt. Then he sighed. "Just be careful, _ouais?_ I know you can't tell me, but that doesn't make it any easier."

Arthur didn't say anything, so Francis tugged him towards the taps, holding his hands underneath the multicoloured water. Arthur hissed in pain.

Once the cuts were clean, Francis cast a simple healing charm. The wounds healed themselves within seconds, but he couldn't quite let go. Arthur's hands were long and slender, like a writer or an artist, but with the callouses of someone who worked long hours outdoors. He traced the length of one with a finger.

Arthur cleared his throat quietly, and Francis suddenly realised he should probably let go at some point.

"You have massive hands for your height." Francis blurted, shifting so that their hands were in line, palm to palm. Arthur's were almost the same size as his. Then he smiled lasciviously. "You know what they say about that, don't you? Big hands, big –"

"Heart." Arthur snapped, snatching his hand back and looking at something behind Francis.

There was a giggle, and Francis turned to see a ghost drifting towards them. She looked quite young, with round glasses and dark hair in plaits. "Oh, don't let me interrupt," she giggled.

"Myrtle," Arthur said stiffly.

"Hello, Arthur," she said breathily, fluttering translucent eyelashes. "Who's your friend?" She winked at Francis, who managed a weak smile in response.

"His name is Francis Bonnefoy, and I'm sure he's _enchanté_ to meet you but we have to go. Sorry, Myrtle!"

Arthur took Francis' hand and dragged him out of the bathroom.

"Myrtle's sweet, but she can be a tad… Well, I think she was enjoying the fact that you're shirtless a bit _too_ much."

"Ah." They kept walking. Arthur was obviously thinking about something; he was biting his lip, and he seemed to have forgotten the fact that they were still holding hands - not that Francis was complaining. Francis waited, and sure enough eventually Arthur stopped and turned to him.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you before. You were just trying to look out for me, and I shouldn't have been such a wanker about it. And I never really thanked you for earlier, did I?"

Before Francis could reply, Arthur had kissed him lightly, soft and chaste but still pulse-quickeningly warm.

Without letting Francis react, he hurried off.

* * *

><p>Arthur arrived back at the Ravenclaw commonroom and slumped down on one of the sofas, trying not to think about Francis' expression when he'd kissed him.<p>

He thoughtfully prodded one of the embroidered silver and blue cushions, and sighed.

He'd known taking care of a dragon would be hard, but he hadn't quite prepared himself for this.

* * *

><p>AN - Madame Puddifoot's is a tea shop frequented by overly romantic lovey-dovey couples and is full of pink and cherubs and icky stuff like that.

Feel free to review :)


	11. Chapter Nine

The weekend of their date seemed also to signal the beginning of winter. The cold woke Arthur up earlier than he would ever want to on a Saturday, and he stomped down to breakfast in a foul mood made fouller by Francis, who greeted him with a grin and a bouquet of red roses.

_"Bonjour, mon cher!_ You're up early - to excited to sleep?"

"Too cold," Arthur grumbled, scowling at the flowers in the hope they would spontaneously combust and force the tittering fifth years to _shut up_.

It didn't work.

Arthur gave one final glare and then gave up. "Besides, Francis, the only emotions I've had concerning this… _thing_ are dread and horror and a curious mixture of the two."

Francis either didn't listen or didn't care. "Ah, _oui?_ That's nice. I'm looking forward to this evening!"

"Um…" Arthur searched for some way to put the damn thing off, or better yet weasel out of it entirely. Oddly, he found himself spuriously rejecting the solutions that presented themselves. He successfully ignored the stupid little voice that said snidely, _"Maybe that's because you've been looking forward to this."_

Before he knew what was happening Arthur found himself saying, "Me too, I guess."

Francis beamed at him, and Arthur's heart inexplicably decided to beat out a little happy-dance in response.

"See you later, then?" He said hastily.

Francis nodded, still smiling. _"A plus tard."_

* * *

><p>Once he returned from visiting Libby, Arthur spent most of the day reading in an unsuccessful attempt to quell the nerves that had <em>nothing<em> to do with Francis or the date. Two hours before Arthur was due to meet Francis, Elizabeta burst in, arms overflowing with a bewildering array of clothes.

"Afternoon, Artie!" She sang. "Looking forward to your date?"

Arthur yelped. "Holy shit! What? How did you even_ find out_ about the whole fiasco?"

Elizabeta laughed, eyes glinting maniacally. "Oh, I have my ways. Now, try this on! And then that, that, that, and that."

Arthur sniffed. "I am perfectly capable of choosing my own attire, thank you." And he turned back to his book.

The frying pan got involved, and suddenly Arthur felt a lot more willing to co-operate.

One and three quarter hours later, Elizabeta was still deliberating. With the combination of her indecision and his own lack of organisation, Arthur ended up being late and having to run to the designated meeting place.

Francis smiled in relief when Arthur turned up, ten minutes later than planned. _"Ah, tu est enfin arrivé; _I was starting to think you'd stood me up. _Bien, on y va!"_ He reached for Arthur's hand.

"Don't even think about it," Arthur threatened, and they headed for Hogsmeade.

* * *

><p>"…and it's a very long way, I really think we should have flooed or something rather than taking our brooms," Arthur ranted, pausing momentarily for breath and to try and think of something else to complain about.<p>

Francis' grin was only growing wider the more Arthur grumbled. Eventually, Arthur decided that the best course of action was to temporarily make a dignified retreat into silence.

That is, to sulk silently.

Not even that could faze Francis. As soon as they had arrived and dismounted their brooms, he asked, "Have you ever heard of David Tyson Gentry?"

Arthur glanced at him sidelong. "No, and I'm not sure I want to."

Francis made a moue of disappointment.

"Fine. Who was he?"

Francis smiled, and Arthur got the feeling he was going to regret asking. "Well, I don't know who he was, really. I was just thinking of what he said about friendship, you know? How 'true friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable.' I wonder if it's the same when it comes to_ l'amour?_ Because to me -"

"I will hit you," Arthur threatened.

_"Desolé, cheri,"_ Francis said meekly. But his eyes danced with something entirely too upbeat to be remorse.

Arthur tried to stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He turned and said briskly, "So where are we headed? And if you _dare_ say Madame Puddifoot's, I will personally -"

Wincing, Francis darted to cover Arthur's mouth with one gloved hand. "As creative as I'm sure that threat was to be, I don't particularly want to have nightmares for the rest of my life. But don't worry, we're going to the Three Broomsticks." He moved his hand away and winked. "I know how much you like Firewhisky."

Arthur flushed, thinking about what had happened the last time he'd got drunk. In that moment he vowed never again to drink.

(It was a vow that remained unbroken for all of fifteen minutes.)

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Arthur, he was able to quickly divert Francis' attention from memories of Arthur's inebriation with the distraction of a flake of snow that landed on the tip of his nose.

"Ah, it's starting to snow!" And with that, Francis kissed away the snowflake. "English weather is truly bizarre," he added, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

"Y-yes, it is," Arthur stammered.

Francis' gaze snapped straight back to Arthur, and he smirked. "I do believe you're blushing, _mon cher."_

"It's the cold, you twat!" Arthur snapped. Which, thanks to Elizabeta, was plausibly true - he hadn't been allowed to bring his trench coat on the grounds that it was 'too last year'.

Francis took in Arthur's clothes and for a moment actually looked quite guilty. "Let me give -"

"I swear to God, if you offer me your coat…" Arthur trailed off and let Francis use his imagination concerning the rest of the threat. "I'm not a girl, Francis. And if we _were_ in a relationship - which we're not - _I_ would top."

Arthur regretted the words as soon as he'd said them, quickly realising he'd basically asked for Francis to make a sleazy comment.

Surprisingly, Francis just smiled. "I wasn't going to. I knew you'd be too proud to accept. Besides," he grinned. "I don't want to get cold myself, do I?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but before he could stop himself he was smiling back.

"Here. Take my gloves." Before Arthur could complain, Francis pushed the butter-soft leather gloves into his hands. "I've got deep pockets, I'll be fine."

_God damn it._

"Francis…" Arthur said hesitantly.

"Oui?"

"We could…" He faltered. "Well, one glove each, andwecouldholdhands," he blurted.

Christ alive, Arthur's face felt like it was on fire.

Francis frowned delicately._ "Qu'est-ce que tu as dit?"_

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens. "Shit, Francis, why are you such an idiot?" Trying to look unaffected, Arthur shoved one of the gloves at Francis. Then he grabbed Francis' hand and laced their fingers together.

Francis looked like someone had just told him he'd won the lottery.

"Shut up," Arthur snapped.

"But _mon cher -"_

_"Shut up!"_

Eyes dancing, Francis mimed zipping his lips closed and immediately ruined it by grinning hugely.

"And stop looking so damn… _happy."_ Arthur added.

Francis chuckled and, by way of response, pulled Arthur into his arms.

Arthur debated whether or not to complain or struggle, but decided against it on the grounds that _(Francis was warm and close and suddenly he'd forgotten how to breathe)_ it probably wouldn't have any effect. He leant into the hug, burying his face in the sweet curve of Francis' neck. Then he wrapped his arms around Francis' waist, just for good measure.

After all, it was important to stay warm.

Francis seemed to agree - he tightened his arms around Arthur and whispered something inaudible. Arthur sighed happily - though if Francis had asked, he would have protested it was in irritation.

Arthur was the one to pull back, worrying that someone would see. He'd never been one for PDA, especially not when it involved a boy with whom he'd been caught on camera in a number of compromising positions, a number of times.

(He still didn't let go of Francis' hand.)

Francis looked dangerously close to pouting, and Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to resist. He quickly offered Francis a small smile. "Shall we?"

Hand in hand, they headed for the Three Broomsticks.

* * *

><p>Rather than sitting at the bar they took a small table by the window so as to look out at the snow.<p>

Even though Arthur had pulled away as soon as they'd crossed the threshold, Francis' hand had snaked back into his own, and though it must have looked odd that both of them had one hand under the table (not to mention the awkwardness of drinking his Firewhisky with his left hand), Arthur didn't mind.

It was around that point when it suddenly hit Arthur. Not only was he on a date with Francis Bonnefoy, notorious philanderer, but he was _enjoying it_.

This called for another Firewhisky.

Francis raised one eyebrow. _"Mon dieu,_ Arthur! We've been here all of ten minutes, and you're already onto your second?"

Arthur scowled at him. "Actually, I was ordering it for you," he lied. At once, he felt guilty at the expression of mingled surprise and happiness that crossed Francis' face.

_"Merci, mon cher." _Francis took a small sip, and then either smiled or grimaced.

Suddenly, Arthur vaguely remembered when he'd been drunk, and Francis mentioning that he didn't like Firewhisky. He winced, recalling something else as well. "Did I call you France?" He blurted.

_"Oui, c'est exact -_ I had nearly forgotten, what with everything else that happened!" Francis leaned forwards and grinned. _"Angleterre."_

Arthur glared at him but refused to rise. "You don't have to drink that, you know. I'd forgotten you didn't like the stuff."

Francis sighed. "Thank god. Speaking of which…" He leaned forward. "How much of that evening do you remember?"

"Not much, really - my brain tends to go haywire when I'm drunk. I can remember a couple of flashes…" He coughed delicately. Several of those flashes had featured in more than one of his dreams. "But I mean, I can't really tell the difference between what's reality and what's me being drunk and getting shit mixed up. Why?"

"No reason," France said, and he couldn't have looked more shifty if he'd tried.

Feeling benevolent, Arthur changed the subject. "Do you miss France? I mean, the weather over here is pretty shitty most of the time…"

Francis laughed. "What is it with you English and obsessing over the weather? As to whether I miss France, yes and no. I miss my family, of course, and my home. Paris is _très joli, non?_ And as I'm sure you're wondering, the weather is nicer. Not by much in the north of France, though."

Arthur blinked. "Why do you like England then?"

"Ah… _Comment est-ce que je peux dire ça…_ I suppose, England has its own patchwork charm,_ tu sais?_ Besides," - underneath the table, Francis' hand squeezed Arthur's gently. His blue eyes softened as he said, _"Si j'étais en France, je ne t'aurais pas rencontré. Ni Gil, ni Tonio; n'aucune personne."_

_If I were in France, I would not have met you. Nor Gil, nor Antonio; not anyone._

Arthur swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He took a gulp of Firewhisky and tried not to think about the words currently circling round his head. It was no good; he could feel himself falling for Francis, and Arthur knew exactly what that meant.

That he, Arthur Kirkland, was royally fucked.

* * *

><p>Not long after that, everything began to go wrong.<p>

They left the Three Broomsticks and headed for Honeydukes; the shop always stayed open late on the days when Hogwarts students were visiting. As they were paying, there was a squeal of "Francis!" as a girl ran up to Francis and kissed him once on each cheek. She looked cute in a short blue dress, red ribbons tying back chocolate brown hair.

Arthur felt his stomach churn with jealousy as Francis greeted her happily and started chattering away. With a nod he accepted his change and chocolate from Mrs Flume and left the shop.

How could he have been such an _idiot?_ When it came to Francis, Arthur let his heart rule his head every time. And every time he ended up feeling the same way. Francis was a womaniser, and Arthur needed to stop thinking that there was anything between them but an extremely tenuous friendship.

"Arthur! Wait!" Francis called.

Increasing his strides, Arthur ignored him. _Just like Marie._

"Arthur!"

Oh, fuck. He still had one of the damn gloves. Arthur stopped abruptly and waited for Francis to catch up to him. "Thanks for lending me your gloves," he said curtly, tearing the glove off his hand. "Here."

When he held it out, Francis gave a sharp gasp. Instead of taking the glove, he caught Arthur's wrist, flipping his hand over to show the fine scratches that Arthur hadn't even realised were there.

Apparently, Arthur was getting too used to Libby's sharp claws.

"What happened?" Francis asked, drawing out his wand to heal the cuts. "And don't try to lie or avoid the subject again. Whatever this is, it's hurting you -"

Arthur snatched his hand back and glared at Francis. "Firstly, a couple of scratches is nothing serious. And secondly, I really don't see why you care. Just go back to your girlfriend - you wouldn't want her to feel left out. And there's really no point you staying here because your presence is just pissing me off."

There was a tense moment, then Francis laughed. "Shelley? My girlfriend?"

Arthur glowered at him. _Shelley?_ Francis had mentioned her before; he'd been looking for her scarf at the lake. _Someone important, then._ "As hilarious as it is, this really isn't helping my mood. I'm going; feel free to fuck off."

"No, wait. You misunderstand. Shelley is my cousin."

Francis smiled charmingly, and suddenly Arthur felt slightly stupid.

"Now that we've agreed that I care, will you _please_ tell me what's going on?" Francis asked.

And Arthur really did consider it. After all, it'd be good to have someone else who knew - someone who could help, share the responsibility.

But if Arthur told him, it would force Francis into the situation without much of a choice. No matter what Francis thought he wanted right now, it wouldn't be fair to burden him with a dragonet.

He sighed. "No. But I promise, I'm only keeping it from you because it's better that way. And it's nothing that will hurt me - well, not any more seriously than a couple of scratches." _And possible burns, if Libby gets overexcited._

Francis raised one eyebrow. _"Bien._ I suppose I can't force it out of you - not without Veritaserum. But if whatever this is spirals out of control, I'd better be the first to know, _d'accord?"_

Arthur smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

_"De rien."_

Speaking of Libby… "The snow's getting heavier, isn't it?" Arthur hoped she wouldn't be too cold.

Francis glanced up at the sky. _"Ouais._ I can't see the stars anymore. Oh, _merde."_

"What?"

"That astronomy essay, remember? We were supposed to choose a constellation to write twelve rolls of parchment about, and I haven't even started. It's due on Monday."

"Oh, you can copy mine." Arthur said dismissively.

"Ah, _merci beaucoup!_ What constellation did you write about?"

"Draco."

Francis stopped abruptly.

"What?"

Francis stared at him in shocked horror.

"What's wrong, Francis?" Arthur asked.

"You've got a pet _dragon?"_

Fuck.

* * *

><p>So one issue that has been cropping up a lot in the reviews is this: how did Francis figure out the pet dragon issue? Rather than individually replying each time, I thought I'd clear things up here, and apologise for the lack of clarity!<p>

Basically, the constellation named Draco is thought to be a dragon, just as Leo is a lion (I like astronomy). From Arthur's behaviour, Francis had already realised two things: that whatever he was hiding was something that would get him into shit (for you non-HP lovers, keeping a dragon is not the done thing in the wizarding word, putting it mildly); and that, as evidenced from the scratches on his hands, the mysterious thing was some kind of clawed beast.

Add to this the fact that he'd seen Arthur's books on dragons previously, Arthur's choice of the constellation Draco - which revealed that he had dragons on the brain - was the last piece of the puzzle. Things slotted into place for Franny and voila! Artie's secret was no longer so secret.

If there are any more questions, feel free to PM me, or drop a review :)

* * *

><p><em>Translations:<em>

_"A plus tard." - _Until later.

_"Ah, tu est enfin arrivé._ _Bien, on y va!" _- Ah, you're here at last. So, let's go!

_"Qu'est-ce que tu as dit?" _- What did you say?

_"Oui, c'est exact?" _- Yes, that's right.

_"Comment est-ce que je peux dire ça…" _- How can I say this…

Feel free to review :)


	12. Chapter Ten

A/N - I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person… It's been FAR too long since the last update. The thing is I have GCSEs right now, and I don't even know why I wrote this, short as it is, because I really should be revising. But the guilt of such a long hiatus finally overcame me and so here we are…

By the by, this chapter has plot; you have been warned.

* * *

><p>Francis stared down at the coal-black dragon, smoke coiling from its nostrils as it snored, and found that there was only one thing he could think about.<p>

"You stole cushions from the Ravenclaw commonroom?" He said in disbelief. "Doesn't that go against your very nature?"

Arthur glanced at him, green eyes expressive of his emotions - starting with relief that Francis didn't seem to care that he was breaking several laws, and very quickly descending into irritation. "I can't be the first prefect to abuse their power. And you said yourself I have 'a Slytherin nature', so you shouldn't be so shocked!" He fiddled with the silver tassel, which was by now looking rather frayed from sharp dragon teeth and claws, and sighed. "I must admit, I wasn't really anticipating such a loss of my moral fibre."

"And there's your Ravenclaw nature," Francis laughed.

At once there was a crash and a thud as the dragon, previously coiled so neatly on its pilfered cushion, leapt into a tiny, flaming ball of action. "Intruder! Intruder! Arthur, kill it quickly!" It flapped around Francis' head, butting its tiny head against him in an ineffectual attack.

"Arthur, are you going to intervene at some point?" Francis asked nervously, ducking a swipe from sharp talons.

"Oh, no, I'm having too much fun. I can't wait until she remembers she can breathe fire!" Arthur grinned.

Hearing this the dragon stopped for a moment and opened its jaws. Francis had a terrible vision of beautiful, silky tresses singed with flame, and promptly reached out and closed his hand over the dragon's mouth; better to lose a few fingers than his precious _hair_.

There was an explosion of movement from the little dragon, and one of its wings hit Arthur in the face, wiping away his smug expression and making Francis feel a little better. "Do you want to take over?" Francis offered. Arthur glared at him swiftly - it was amazing how much emotion he could concentrate into just one tiny glance - and stepped forwards.

"Hey, Libby, calm down! This is Francis. The only thing dangerous about him is how irritating he is." He scowled at Francis. "If I were less strong-willed he would have long since driven me to suicide."

Oddly, the dragon didn't seem to be much comforted by this, and continued flailing wildly. Finally Arthur just reached out and gathered it up, cradling it in his arms as tenderly as if it were a puppy. "Don't worry, Libby, he's not here to hurt you. Promise," he soothed.

The dragon glared at Francis, and from the concentrated rage the look expressed Francis could tell it had learnt from the best.

Once the dragon had quieted down, Arthur set it down gently on its cushion and turned back to Francis. "Francis, meet Libby. Libby, this is Francis. Be polite."

"Nice to meet you," it said sulkily.

Francis spluttered. "It can talk?"

Both Arthur and the dragon - Libby - turned to him with identical expressions of outrage. "She can. She spoke earlier, idiot!" Arthur said.

"And I am a she, not an it. Arthur, tell your_ friend -"_ here Libby broke off and looked Francis up and down disapprovingly - "that if he continues to be rude, he's going to get a barbecuing."

Francis tried not to laugh. It was adorably preposterous that such a tiny creature could have such pride. "I'm very sorry to have offended you. But you have to understand, this is the first time I have seen a dragon, and I'm a bit overawed."

The dragon cocked her head. "Overawed?" She said, preening.

Francis nodded gravely. "And as I'm sure Arthur will tell you, I'm not good with first impressions."

Arthur laughed and rolled his eyes. "Pfft. Not good at all, Francis."

"Let's just start again, _oui?"_ Francis smiled. Libby nodded, and Francis swooped into a low bow. "Francis Bonnefoy; _enchanté."_

Libby bobbed her head in haughty response. "Nice to meet you. I am Libellule."

Francis' head shot up. "Libellule?"

Libby looked slightly puzzled. "Yes, is there a problem?"

Francis glanced behind her at Arthur, who was shaking his head desperately and mouthing words that could have been no, and please, and murder.

Francis thought of his flowing golden locks and how close he'd come to a haircut, and gave Arthur a reassuring smile.

Then he looked back at Libby and said, _"Libellule_ is the French word for dragonfly."

There was a moment of silence, and then Libellule turned on Arthur, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>"There are so many things people don't tell you about dragons," Francis mused.<p>

Arthur scowled at him, and Francis took that as his cue to continue.

"I never realised dragons liked cooked meat. Or that they could talk." He paused reflectively. "Or that they could talk and breathe flame at the same time."

"And that's one thing I wish I'd never discovered," Arthur growled. "And may never have, if not for _you."_

"Well, look at it this way, Arthur. If you ever decide to write a book about dragons, you'll be very well informed."

Arthur glowered at him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Francis said cheerily.

"I'm wondering whether it'd be too much effort to throttle you here, in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, and dump your corpse where no one would ever find it."

Ignoring Arthur's murderous expression, Francis laughed and slung his arm across Arthur's shoulders. God, he'd never get bored of this. "You love me too much," he teased.

Arthur tensed up at once and shoved Francis' arm off him. He turned to face Francis, and his dark green eyes were serious. Francis caught his breath.

"Francis, I -"

But before Arthur could finish, there was a thud. Straight after that the very forest was split by a cry - the sort of cry born only from experiencing the most exquisite pain.

Neither of them paused to think - they ran straight towards the sound.

As they approached, Francis could feel the temperature drop. The air clung to him and settled clammily on his skin, and he shivered despite himself.

They soon burst out into a small clearing, dark and thick with the foul stench of death. In the centre, barely illuminated in the faint light that trickled through the Forest's thick canopy, lay a unicorn. Francis could see a pool of silver, like liquid mercury, and in a flash he realised that it was the unicorn's blood.

Over the unicorn hovered a dark shape, cloaked in torn grey garments that fluttered about it in an unearthly draft. It raised its head, scattering drops of silver, and stared straight at them.

Francis froze. He could feel his willpower sapping away, every happy thought and feeling he'd ever experienced ebbing out of him.

_Was this a dementor?_

Arthur was the first to react. _"Expecto patronum!"_ He said shakily. A shape flew out of his wand, and dissolved into white smoke before Francis had even made out what it was.

Francis didn't even bother trying to conjure his own patronus; he couldn't think of a single happy memory, and if Arthur had failed there was no way his patronus stood a chance. _"Confringo!"_ He shouted, and the dementor burst into flame.

The flames died, and the dementor was unharmed.

Francis and Arthur exchanged glances briefly. Then they cast spell after spell after spell, battering the thing with a multitude of attacks.

_"Expulso!"_

_"Bombarda maxima!"_

_"Avis oppugno!"_

_"Aqua eructo!"_

None of the spells had any effect. Impossibly, the dementor rose and drifted slowly towards them.

Suddenly Arthur grabbed Francis' hand. "Together," he said quietly, and he raised his wand again. Francis nodded.

"One… two… three…"

They cast the spell in unison. _"Expecto patronum!"_

Two glistening shapes burst out of their wands and flew at the dementor, driving it back across the clearing. Francis felt a flare of pride, and he focussed even harder, pouring every ounce of his being into that one spell. The dementor fell back, and it was now at the edge of the clearing.

The trees reached skeletal branches to embrace the dementor, and within moments it had vanished.

There was a stunned silence. The sun poured into the clearing, and suddenly it was warm again. Francis smiled slightly in relief - and then he remembered the unicorn.

They crouched beside the creature. It was utterly still, lying like an alabaster statue in a pool of quicksilver. Francis tentatively reached out and laid his hand on the velvet pelt of the unicorn; it was icy cold, as if all the dementor's power had leached into it.

Cold as death.

Beside him Arthur was shaking, and Francis suddenly realised that he was too. He wrapped his arms around Arthur, and Arthur pushed closer to him, both instinctively needing the comfort of another human, the comfort of feeling the pulse and warmth of life.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Eventually Francis shifted and they stood, shaky on numb legs.

"I can't believe we were too late," Arthur whispered. At some point he had taken Francis' hand - or maybe it was the other way round - and neither of them would let go.

Together they left the forest.

* * *

><p>They were almost at the castle. Now that they were out of the shadow of the forest, the whole thing felt almost like a dream to Francis. Neither of them had spoken yet, and Francis didn't know how he'd be able to act normal when they entered the castle.<p>

"I can't believe your Patronus is a rabbit," Francis said lightly.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, and then relaxed back into their usual banter. "It's a hare, you dumbfuck."

"I'm sure it is," Francis said placatingly. "Of course, you absolutely do not have a fluffy little bunny for your patronus."

Arthur sniffed. "Well yours is a lion - the national animal of England. Not very patriotic, is it?"

"But a lot more redoubtable than a bunny."

"A _hare."_

"Whatever you say, Arthur," Francis teased.

After a short pause, Arthur added, "At least mine's cute."

Hearing Arthur's petulantly stubborn tone, Francis couldn't hold stop himself from bursting out laughing. Soon Arthur was bent over too, unable not to see the funny side. The relief of having driven off the dementor in the forest, the horror at discovering the unicorn had died; all the pent-up emotions of the experience drained away as they stood there, and finally Francis felt calm enough to face normality.

"It's not over, is it?" He said presently.

Arthur shook his head wordlessly.

Francis sighed. It went entirely against his every instinct, but… "We should tell the professors."

"No!" Arthur stopped abruptly. "For one thing, that just means the Ministry will be over, faffing around and writing up useless reports, too tied up in red tape to stop the thing. And what will happen to Libby if we can't go back into the forest? Besides, to gain immortality it's only necessary to drink the unicorn's blood once a month, which means that the dementor won't act for a while." He looked at Francis pleadingly. "Just give me a week; one week to try and figure out how to stop this. If I'm at a dead end after a week, you can go to the professors and I'll find somewhere else to hide Libby."

"Fine, but on one condition."

Arthur scowled. "Is next weekend alright?" He said reluctantly.

"What?" Francis frowned. _Oh_. Arthur thought the condition was the same as last time, a date. He grinned. "If you're volunteering, next weekend sounds great! What I was actually going to say was, you have to let me help you. From here on out, we're in it together."

Arthur's expression softened, and he smiled at Francis. It was then that Francis noticed how exhausted he looked - Francis could remember every one of Arthur's smiles, and he'd never seen such a faint one.

"Thank you," Arthur said. "I'd like that."

Francis had no idea whether he was referring to the prospect of a second date or of having a dogsbody to help with the research, but he didn't really care either way. If it were the latter, he'd crawl through as many tomes as it would take to make Arthur happy.

For someone like Arthur, it was the least he could do.

* * *

><p>Oh my golly gosh I can't believe I just killed a unicorn…<p>

So the reason why this was so slow to update was because with 'At Sea' kinda drawing ishly to a close, I have been shuftying around for a new multichap fic. And, rather like busses, three have come along, all of which are first chapter complete and no idea where the fuck to go next.

-_-;;

I don't understand at all how it works. I mean, I've just got into PruCan and now suddenly an AmericaxCanada fic just pops into my head, fully formed and screaming "write me, please!" And the Spamano, too! I mean, I don't write multichap Spamanos. (Of course, the third one is a FrUK. They are my OTP…)

Sorry, stopping with the rant.

Thanks for reading, and please do review! I love them all, even just the shortest one-word review.


	13. Chapter Eleven

A/N - I am so very sorry about the ridiculously long hiatus; term time is finally over, and hopefully I shall be updating 'At Sea' sometime this week to anyone following that fic. Unfortunately, I'm going on holiday to Turkey, not getting back until the end of August, so there'll probably be another wait until the next chapter. After that, though, updates will be more regular I promise :)

Thanks for your patience! And happy independence day, to any American readers :)

_Anons:_

_It'sABunny: _Thank you, so glad you liked it! And you have no idea how much of a relief it is to hear that the plot is working - I've never been very good at anything more than fluff, really XD I shall try to work in some of those pairings, at least briefly - thank you for suggesting them! Merci beaucoup~

_lalalala:_ Thanks! I've always liked the idea of Arthur having a fluffy little patronus to contrast with his spiky personality; glad you thought it worked. And tell me about it, Latin has properly brainwashed me! I'm taking Latin, German, Spanish, and French, so I was basically suicidal over GCSEs XD Thanks again for your review!

* * *

><p>Arthur closed yet another heavy tome with a thud and groaned. "I can't believe it. There isn't anything at all here!"<p>

Rocking back on his chair, Francis stretched muscles stiff from hunching over books. _"Dieu, _I know. All these books, and not a single one mentions anything like that thing we saw."

"Tell me about it," Arthur said morosely. "What time is it? The words are starting to jump off the page. I get the feeling I won't get anything useful done."

Francis glanced at his watch. _"Merde -_ it's four thirty already."

"Fuck. Definitely time to get some sleep." Arthur slid the books back onto their shelves, yawning massively.

They headed for their dorms in silence, too tired and dispirited for conversation.

It had been four days since the Incident, and neither he nor Francis had found anything useful at all.

Arthur knew the library back to front - even the restricted section no longer posed a threat to him - and they'd combed through every single book only to come up with nothing. Dementors had only ever been mindless soldiers. One like this, that wanted more from its existence than Azkaban's criminal pickings, was unprecedented. No one had ever seen anything like this before.

They parted ways at the stairway up to Ravenclaw tower. "G'night, Francis." Arthur mumbled.

_"Bon nuit, cher."_

Stumbling in exhaustion, Arthur started to make his way up to his dorm.

The end of the week was fast approaching. He thought of Libby in the forest, and knew he had to do something.

The question was, what?

By the end of day six, they still hadn't got anywhere and were dead on their feet. Neither of them had got more than three hours sleep per night since before the Incident, and there was only so much that coffee and invigoration draughts could do. Gil had been giving them both worried glances all day and eventually cornered them outside the Potions classroom.

"Guys, seriously, you need to get some sleep. I don't know what you're doing, and I really hope you're not making me lose Lizbet's bet, but whatever it is, is it really worth killing yourselves over?" He poked at the dark circles under Francis' eye. "Come on, Fanny, think about it. That can't be good for your skin." He paused, suddenly looking horrified. "Oh dear god, I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation. I am turning into a girl or a caring friend or something equally horrible, and you two fuckwits are to blame." He flounced off.

Arthur and Francis watched him go. Presently, Francis turned to Arthur and said gently, "He has a point, Arthur. We've scoured the library and found nothing; maybe we should just get some rest and come back to it once our brains are functioning again."

Arthur sighed. "I know, it's just that there's only one more day. I have no idea what to do with Libby."

Francis hummed. "We'll work something out. If worst comes to worst, we could try and sneak her into the Room of Requirement."

Stifling a yawn, Arthur nodded. He tried not to think about how difficult that would be logistically - not to mention the risk of someone entering the Room and being confronted with a very small, very angry dragon.

Francis tapped his forehead with a cool finger. "You're frowning, _mon cher."_

Arthur sagged against the wall with a sigh, closing his eyes. "I just didn't think it'd be so complicated."

There was a silence, and then Francis awkwardly touched his shoulder. Arthur's eyes flew open in surprise and he stared at his friend. For once Francis looked unsure of himself - and wasn't it odd that someone who was so suave, so flirtatious, could be so uncertain about a simple touch?

And yet, for all its clumsiness, that small gesture was somehow comforting.

"It'll be okay," Francis said softly.

And Arthur could almost believe he was right.

* * *

><p>Arthur crashed into bed as soon as he arrived at the Ravenclaw dormitories and was asleep in moments.<p>

He woke at three in the morning with the sudden realisation that this was a situation without an answer in any book. In a way he'd known all along, had been denying it. But this time Arthur recognised that fact, recognised that he'd have to find the answer himself - and he knew where to start.

Protected from sight by a disillusionment charm, Arthur padded downstairs to the library and found _A Wizard's Guide to Dementors_. It was a book that they'd already tried and that had come up with nothing in particular. But there was one page Francis had dog-eared, a page with a potion Arthur could use.

Putting the book in his bag, Arthur headed for the restricted section. After several brief skirmishes with some books on the dark arts, he'd found everything he was looking for. It was a seemingly arbitrary collection of books, topics ranging from simple healing poultices to the blackest dark arts, but Arthur could use it. He got to work.

By the time the sun rose a couple of hours later, Arthur had the sketchy beginnings of a potion, one that would hopefully destroy the dementor. He looked it over briefly, but was too tired by now to make much sense of it.

It was now 5:23, and Arthur hadn't had any caffeine for too long now. He headed for the kitchens and asked Winky to brew him a pot of tea and a bucket of coffee. Twenty minutes and seven cups of coffee later, Arthur was sipping his tea and ready to face the day.

He headed for the Slytherin dormitories as soon as he'd finished his tea, wanting to talk to Francis as soon as possible. When he arrived, however, Francis' bed was empty. He frowned. Surely he couldn't be up already? Unless…

Arthur retraced his footsteps to the Slytherin commonroom. He headed for the table that the Slytherins were supposed to use for studying, but in practice used for poker. And there was Francis, snoring quietly with a dusty book for a pillow and a surprisingly peaceful expression. Lying there like that, soft hair fanning out over the pages and lashes grazing his cheekbones, Francis looked almost… cute.

Arthur's brain screeched to a halt, circling in wary disbelief around that errant thought. Francis was his friend, just his friend! "Christ, things are just getting worse and worse." Arthur said aloud.

Francis shifted slightly in his sleep, murmuring something inaudible, and Arthur suddenly clocked that to have fallen asleep on a book like that the Slytherin must have been studying last night. He craned his neck to see, and caught a couple of words. Enough to know that Francis had been working on the dementor problem.

Arthur suddenly felt horribly guilty. This wasn't Francis' responsibility, it was Arthur's. He'd been the one to convince Francis not to report it, and he should have made sure Francis wasn't doing anything stupid like this.

He found a quill and some parchment and scribbled out a quick note. _Got something that should work - I'll show you later. A_

Before he left, Arthur set up a couple of wards so that Francis wouldn't be disturbed. It was a Sunday, but there would still be a couple of people eschewing a lie-in for whatever ridiculous reason, and he didn't want those idiots waking Francis. Finally he _accio_'d a blanket and draped it over Francis, and then hurried back to his own dorm to go over the potion.

* * *

><p>Francis found Arthur at around midday. "Thanks for the blanket and the wards," he smiled.<p>

"No problem," Arthur replied, inwardly praying he wasn't blushing. "Did you get the note?"

Francis nodded. "How did you find it?"

Arthur looked shifty. "I didn't technically find it, per se…"

Francis blinked in confusion, and then suddenly stared at Arthur with a mixture of horror and awe. "You mean you _made it?"_

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be _incorrect_ to say that…" Arthur hedged. "But I used a lot of elements from other potions and spells. It's more that I modified than created." Arthur riffled through the books and papers in front of him to find the messy parchment describing the potion. He handed it to Francis, who scanned it briefly.

_"Mon dieu, _Arthur_. _So how does it work?"

"Basically, taking the potion will change the user's patronus. It'll adapt it so that it can destroy this dementor. But we'll have to wait until it's a new moon - the lunar cycle will affect how well the potion works."

_"D'accord."_ Francis glanced over the ingredients again and frowned. "Arthur, these ingredients are going to be impossible to find. I mean, moly root and sopophorus beans, those'll be easy enough, and we can break into Alaric's potion store to get the Boomslang skin. But Re'em blood? _Acromantula venom?_ I bet not even Alaric would have some of these!"

Arthur smirked. "Clearly you don't know Alaric well enough."

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight. Alaric will have all of the ridiculously rare ingredients that this potion requires, <em>oui?"<em>

Arthur nodded. "Exactly."

"And you know exactly how to get past the wards surrounding the potions cupboard, disarming them without Alaric's knowledge. _Oui?"_

"Yup. You're getting the hang of this, Francis."

_"Bien._ So tell me, _why _are we wandering around in the Forbidden Forest, of all places, trying to find a tentacula plant and a chizpurfle, whatever that is?"

Arthur spelled a particularly persistent vine out of his way and smirked. "Because, dear Francis, we don't want to take too much in our raid. Alaric might get suspicious, plus also we don't want anyone guessing what we're up to. And it's not like it's a problem - we had to come anyway, for Libby. Oh, speak of the devil…" Libby suddenly hove into view, bobbing and lashing her tail excitedly.

"Francis, Arthur, I've found one! Follow me."

Moments later, they were standing in front of a small tentacula bush. Arthur cut off several leaves, placing them carefully in a bag and nodding to Francis.

Francis raised his wand._ "Lumos duo!" _

Now that the spell had been cast, they had only to wait. Just ten minutes later, there was a small pop and a tiny carapace burst out of the plant. Arthur bottled it and put it in with the leaves.

"See? That wasn't too bad," he said confidently.

_"Fait attention!" _Francis said, and pulled Arthur towards him.

Arthur was just formulating a protest when he saw the blast-ended skrewt zoom past on a trajectory that would have ended messily for Arthur. Instead with a sickening crunch it hit a tree behind where Arthur had been standing and bouncing off landed on the forest floor, exposed belly facing upward. Francis quickly hit it with a stunning spell, and Libby swooped in with her fire "just for good measure".

"Thanks," Arthur mumbled, stepping away from Francis' warm arms and trying not to make his reluctance too obvious. "And sorry for jinxing it."

"No problem," Francis said easily.

"Ahem." Libby coughed. "I believe he was thanking me."

Arthur winked at Francis. "Of course I was, Libby. And I would be even more grateful if you could show us the way back? I for one am completely lost, and Francis and I need to be back at the castle soon." He turned to Francis. "If we're breaking into Alaric's stores, now is the best time to do so," he explained.

Francis sighed. "I'm not sure that I want to know why you're so practised at breaking and entering, but I'll take your word for it. Libby, _s'il vous plait?"_

With Libby leading the way, they were soon out of the forest and heading back towards the castle. It wasn't more than quarter of an hour before they were standing at the head of the long corridor that led to the potions cupboard.

Arthur glanced at Francis and grinned. The Slytherin looked surprisingly nervous. "Ready, Francis? It's not too late to back out, you know."

Francis glowered at him. _"Non. _We're in this together, remember?" He paused. "I'm just worried about what sort of terrifying punishment Alaric will inflict if he catches us. _Je veut dire, _the guy has a _plait_ - he's obviously a psycho."

"Yeah… I wonder what he'd do to _your_ hair?" Arthur said thoughtfully, enjoying the look of horror that flitted across Francis' face.

"Let's just get this over with," Francis groaned, and he started down the corridor with the air of a man heading for the executioner's block.

* * *

><p>Arthur had broken into the potions cupboard enough times that he knew exactly what Alaric's wards were and how to counter them. They made it in without a hitch, and it only took a whispered <em>Alohamora<em> to unlock the small oak box containing the acromantula poison.

"How did you know it was in there?" Francis asked. "It's almost worrying how well you know the inside of Alaric's personal stores."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and get the boomslang skin," he said, pointing at a drawer by the door.

_"C'est ça?"_ Francis asked, holding up a glass bottle of paper-thin snakeskin.

Before Arthur could reply, they heard the faint tap of footsteps. Arthur quickly locked a box that now contained one fewer vial of Re'em blood, and they glanced around for somewhere to hide.

Suddenly Arthur cursed and pulled out his wand. "The wards," he hissed.

They had barely finished replacing the wards when the footsteps stopped. Francis ducked under the desk, grabbing Arthur's wrist and tugging him after him. The ingredients were safely in his bag.

Alaric swept in, stopping just inches away from their cramped hiding place. Francis' arm tightened around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer; close enough that Arthur could feel Francis' heartbeat against his back. He gasped reflexively, and immediately Francis clamped his hand over Arthur's mouth.

That was practically asking for trouble. Not bothering to stop and consider any one of the reasons why it was a bad idea, Arthur poked his tongue out and licked Francis' palm.

As soon as he'd done it, Arthur knew it had been the wrong move.

Francis took his hand away, but his aura of smugness was so obvious that Arthur almost wondered if it would give them away. Alaric continued rummaging heedlessly, however, and Arthur felt the brush of lips against his neck.

He stiffened immediately, and considered calling out. Surely the rest of his life in detention was better than prolonged molestation? But Arthur didn't think he'd survive the embarrassment of being caught like this, and maybe – just maybe – some small part of him was enjoying it.

Francis sucked at his pulse point, and Arthur bit back a moan, trying desperately to think of something other than what Francis' blue eyes would look like clouded with lust.

_Naked Hagrid. Dancing naked Hagrid._

Francis pressed a trail of tiny kisses up the side of Arthur's neck, and the mental images morphed into something entirely too appealing. His teeth teased the shell of Arthur's ear, and Arthur clung desperately to the last shreds of his sanity.

"Al!" Came a cheerful voice. Francis, caught by surprise, stopped what he was doing and listened. (Arthur absolutely _did not _feel disappointed.)

Alaric sighed and stepped back towards the door. "What, Roma? Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Yup, I'm on my way there. Just came to say bye!"

There was a short silence, and then Professor Romulus sighed contentedly. "I'll be off, then! Love you, Al."

And just like that all thoughts of Francis vanished straight out of Arthur's mind as his heart stopped in horror.

"You too," Alaric said gruffly. Romulus laughed happily.

Arthur fainted.

* * *

><p>AN - Sorry for the mental image of naked dancing Hagrid. :3

To anyone who isn't a HP fan, the carapace of a chizpurfle is quite difficult to obtain. You use the spell _lumos duo_ to lure the chizpurfle to the venomous tentacula plant, and then wait for the plant to digest the chizpurfle and spit out its carapace. If you want anything else on this subject cleared up, this page (sans spaces) should tell you everything: harrypotter. wikia wiki/ Chizpurfle

(To anyone who is a HP fan, the ingredients and process of this potion don't always relate to canon in method or uses of the ingredients. As a muggle, I'm not sufficiently knowledgeable in potion-making.)

_Amazingness-with a request:_ Hope you enjoyed the RomexGermania! Sorry it was such a long time coming :)

*whores self out for reviews* Please? :3


	14. Chapter Eleven and a Half - Spamano

A/N - Okay, first of all I am so, _so_ sorry about the horrendously long hiatus. My laptop died and things just went to shit. I have nothing at all left of the plot of this story, except for what little remains in my shit memory.

This chapter is SPAMANO. It is also somewhat of a break from the plot, as I'm trying to ease myself back into writing after such a long period without it. As such it might feel a bit jerky if you read it straight after the previous chapter. Then again, given the length of time since the last chapter, I would be surprised if anyone still remembers the events of the last chapter.

There is no good way to explain Ludwig's sudden appearance in this chapter, so I will leave it unexplained. **Any suggestions would be very welcome.**

_Anons:_

_SparxPunx:_ Oh my God, fanart would be the best thing EVER. No jokes! Though you probably won't want to draw it after such a long hiatus… Updates will be more frequent if there's fanart, I swear! (I'll try and make them more frequent anyway, but you know.) As for update soon… heh… Sorry! *runs and hides*

_Guest:_ I'm so sorry about the slow updates! And thank you so much for your compliment, it really means a lot~

_yoyo:_ Argh! Sorry, so much sorry! And again, thank you very much.

_Guest no.2:_ I am keeping going, don't worry :) I will finish this story if it freaking kills me, that is a promise.

Sorry to everyone who's been awaiting updates since forever!

Forgive me?

* * *

><p>The pretty Gryffindor girl Lovino was chatting up had just started flirting back when Feliciano appeared on the scene, bulldozing in with his usual tact and sensitivity.<p>

"Lovi, Lovi! I absolutely have to talk to you right now."

Lovino sighed. Kate pouted. "Can't it wait?"

Feli shook his head vigourously.

Lovino turned back to Kate. _"Mi spiace, _Kate." He jerked his head at Feli. "Little brothers."

Kate smiled at him. "It's so sweet that you care so much about your family," she said.

Lovino spluttered. Before he had time to explain, she'd jumped up, pecked him on the cheek, and disappeared with a lingering scent of perfume and the words, "I'll see you soon."

Turning to Feli, Lovino gave his brother one of his blackest scowls.

_"Ve~?"_

Feli was so obtuse that it was impossible to stay mad at him for long. Lovino sighed and strode off in the direction of the Hufflepuff commonroom. He didn't need to glance round to know that Feli was trotting along behind him.

"How the fuck do you always interrupt me when I'm picking up chicks? I'm beginning to wonder whether it really is just coincidence."

"But _fratello,_ why would I want to sabotage you?"

Tapping the vinegar barrels,* Lovino stomped through the portrait hole and sat down in one of the mustard-yellow armchairs in front of the fire. Feli perched on the chair opposite him, practically buzzing with happiness.

"What is it, then?" Lovino asked. "Better be damn momentous, dragging me off like that."

Feli clasped his hands together, eyes brimming with emotion.

"Well? Spit it out! And stop with the, the thing." Lovino gestured towards Feli's posture and general demeanour. "You look like a Disney princess about to proclaim her undying love or some shit."

Feli blinked. _"Ve~?_ Why didn't you tell me you knew already! Sorry, didn't mean to waste your time."

That got Lovino's attention. Had his helpless little brother's innocence been compromised? Before Feli could waltz off, Lovino had leapt up, grabbed his wrist, and pushed him down into the chair.

"Oh, no. You are not leaving this room until I know exactly what is going on. And if it has anything to do with that potato bastard…" He trailed off, hoping it'd come across as threatening. In reality, Lovino had no idea what he'd do if that potato bastard had touched his fratello; he wasn't scrawny, but Lovino was certainly no match for those muscles.

Feli beamed. "You mean Ludwig?_ Sì!_ We are dating."

_"Che cazzo?!"_

Feli evidently took that as meaning _'Please enlighten me as to how this came about'_, and started burbling on about how cute 'Luddy' was when he blushed (very, apparently), and what it had felt like when they kissed (so much more than butterflies), and -

At this point Lovino had quite had enough. Feli's detailed description of the potato bastard's pecs was cut off abruptly when Lovino's hand slammed across his mouth.

"Now, I am going to remove my hand, and when I do you will be utterly silent and never mention the potato bastard to me again. _Capisci?"_

Feli nodded and Lovino moved his hand. Unfortunately, it wasn't five seconds before he'd opened his mouth again. "Are you going to tell me who you like, Lovi?"

Lovino jerked his head up, heart pounding like a racehorse. _"What?_ I don't like anyone! Not like that, anyway."

Feli cocked his head. "Are you sure?"

_"Sì, assolutamente!"_

"Okay." There was a brief, beautiful moment where Lovino honestly thought his pit-bull of a brother had given up, but then - "So why do you keep making funny noises and saying Tonio's name in your sleep?"

Lovino spluttered. He opened his mouth, and then he closed it. Then he opened it again, and stared at his brother with the subtlety and intelligence of a dead fish.

_"Ve~?"_

Finally, Lovino's brain kicked in with an excuse. "It's called groaning. When I'm asleep I remember all the stupid things I've had to watch him do, and it makes me 'make funny noises' as you put it. A sign of irritation."

"Or of an unhealthy infatuation with a potential partner you perceive to be out of your league."

"Dammit, Feli! I told you to stop reading the weekly horoscopes. I hate it when you quote them and pretend like they make sense!"

Feli drew back, smile wavering. His curl drooped, like it always did when he was hurt. "I'm sorry. I just wanted…"

Lovino sighed. "Fine. Maybe I sometimes wonder what it would be like to… To fuck him."

_"Ve~?"_ Feli looked disappointed. "That's it?"

Lovino glanced away. Sure, he'd thought about that. He was a teenage boy; he was practically drowning in hormones. But he'd also thought about other things, things that he'd always thought were too sappy for him. Things like… "No." Lovino refused to think about that; things were already getting far too emotional for his liking.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about Feli, who sat up suddenly and leant forwards intently. "No? There's more?"

Lovino jerked back. "No! No more! I was saying no to - to something else."

Feli looked disappointed for a second, then he shrugged. "Just as well, I guess."

Lovino frowned, curious despite himself. "Why?"

Leaning forward conspiratorially, Feli drew a deep breath and said, "Basically, Kiku said Al said Mattie said Francis said Arthur said Tonio said he liked someone. _Like _liked them, I mean."

From Feli's tone, Lovino had been expecting something utterly insignificant. So he was completely unprepared for the sudden wave of pain that washed over him. _Antonio liked someone_. It must be Feli, couldn't be anyone else. He'd always thought so; this was the first time he'd hated being proven right.

"Wait! No, sorry, I'm wrong."

Lovino's stomach twisted itself into knots while Feli paused, one finger in the air, as he thought through what he'd said.

"That's it. Kiku said Al said Mattie said _Arthur_ said Francis said Tonio said he like liked someone."

By the time Lovino's brain had wrapped itself around what Feli's rambling actually meant, it had also faced another uncomfortable fact.

_"Merda, io amo Antonio."_

There was a squeal of delight from Feli, and Lovino suddenly realised he'd said that aloud. Next thing he knew, Lovino was being squashed under one hundred and ten pounds of little brother. He squawked, trying and failing to retain his dignity.

"Get off me!"

Feli didn't budge. "Lovi's in love! Lovi's in love!" He sang.

Lovino's capacity for self-delusion had never let him down before, and it wasn't about to this time - not yet. He shuttered down any thought of Antonio. "No, I am not. And if you're still sitting on me by the time I reach zero, I'll transfigure you into a tomato and turn you into pasta sauce. Five… four… three… two…" Lovino reached for his wand, and Feli scrambled to his feet.

Turning, Feli skipped out of the commonroom. "See you later,_ fratello! _And don't worry, I won't tell Antonio."

"There's nothing to tell!" He called, but Feli just waved and disappeared round the corner.

He sighed. Picking up his books, Lovino made his way out of the commonroom and headed for class.

The corridors were surprisingly empty, and a _Tempus_ charm revealed that this was because Lovino was coming on for ten minutes late. He broke into a run; McGonagall was great, but she scared the shit out of him.

He burst through the doors. McGonagall glared at him over the top of her spectacles. "How kind of you to join us, Mr Vargas."

"Sorry I'm late," Lovino said, scanning the classroom. His eyes were drawn to Antonio - he'd turned round upon hearing Lovino's name and was now grinning at him, green eyes sparkling. Beside him was an empty desk.

_But he couldn't sit there._ Not now, not so soon after he realised that his feelings for Antonio were so far beyond platonic.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like he had any other choice. He stared around the room, hoping a seat would somehow materialise.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I think you've dawdled long enough, Mr Vargas," she said. "Now sit down and stop gawking so I can get on with my lesson."

"Sorry, Professor," Lovino mumbled. He made his way over to Antonio.

When he sat down, Antonio pushed over a leaf of parchment. It was the notes from the lesson so far. At the top, Antonio had written, _You look very cute when you're embarrassed._

Pretending not to see it, Lovino took out his quill and began copying down the notes. But as he wrote, he was conscious that Antonio was right next to him. Moving just a couple of inches he could touch Antonio's arm or leg with his own. It would be the easiest thing in the world to reach out and thread his fingers through Antonio's curly hair and kiss his soft mouth…

Suddenly, Antonio's lips curved in a smile. Lovino's eyes flickered up to meet Antonio's, and he flinched back. How long had he been staring for?

Cheeks burning, Lovino forced his gaze back to his work. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Antonio add something to the parchment he'd given him.

When he glanced at it, a word was underlined. _Cute._

_He's not serious,_ Lovino told himself. _If Feli were here, he wouldn't even see me. Besides, cute doesn't mean anything._

It was all very rational, and Lovino pretended his heart wasn't pounding.

But there was a bitter taste in his mouth, and the neat little bow of logic was slowly unravelling at the ends.

* * *

><p><em>Feli's brief interlude:<em>

Feliciano Vargas was an airhead, but he wasn't dumb. He'd known that Tonio and Lovi were meant to be since all three of them were running round as pint-sized wizards, neighbours in a street dominated by Muggles. It was only a matter of time before they got together.

At least, that was what he'd thought.

It was now more than ten years on, and Feli was sick of watching them dance round each other. And the number of times he'd had to barge in and interrupt Lovi when his _fratello_ was mid-flirt - it was getting ridiculous. He'd run out of excuses soon, and then how would he make sure Lovi was single for Tonio?

It was high time they got a little nudge.

As soon as he'd got Lovi to realise his feelings - God, had that been difficult; Feli hadn't thought it physically possible for one person to be so dense - he skipped straight off to find Gil and execute Operation Amore.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't the most imaginative at naming. But hey, he'd sorted out his love life, so he was still a step ahead of Lovi.

His train of thought was interrupted when Feli glimpsed a shock of white hair in the corner of his eye.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

Wary red eyes looked him up and down. "Yeah?"

Feli gave his best I'm-utterly-harmless grin. "I'm Feliciano. You're friends with Tonio, _ve~? _I'm -"

"Oh yeah, course! The Vargas kid. What d'you need?"

Feli smiled and handed him a roll of parchment. "I have a plan…"

* * *

><p>It had been almost a week since Lovino's uncomfortable conversation with Feli. Lovino had spent the time trying to avoid Antonio, with varying degrees of success. It seemed as though wherever he looked, Antonio was there. That stupid grin would appear whenever he noticed Lovino watching him.<p>

Not that he'd been watching.

Lovino groaned. He had to stop thinking about Antonio. Especially since there were other much more important questions he had to deal with.

For one thing, there was the question of Feli. Specifically, the fact that recently, Feli had been behaving in a way that could only be described as _odd_.

Odder than usual, rather. And in a way that couldn't be explained away even by the presence of the potato bastard.

Actually it was potato bastards, in the plural; recently, another had appeared, and more than once Lovino had stumbled across Feli in whispered conference with that weird albino guy. And the only thing more suspicious than a potato bastard, is a potato bastard in denial who claims to be Prussian.

He'd never thought he'd be happy to see Feli with Ludwig - Potato Bastard no.1, even - but since PB2 had stepped onto the scene, his opinion of the guy had changed slightly.

Not that he'd ever tell Feli that, of course.

Speak of the devil - there across the courtyard stood Feli and PB2, huddled in the shadows.

Narrowing his eyes, Lovino stalked over to interrupt them.

Feli glanced up and caught sight of him. Panic crossed his features, and he tugged PB2's sleeve. They hurried off, disappearing round a corner.

Lovino felt a flicker of anger. Recently he'd been feeling irrationally irritated with Feli; it wasn't his fault, but it still stung that Lovino always came second to his brother. Normally it wouldn't bother him - Lovino didn't really care what others thought of him - but it rankled that Antonio had chosen Feli over him. For Antonio, the person Lovino lo- _cared about_ the most, he was just Feli's brother.

So when Lovino saw his brother practically running away from him, it _hurt_. The two of them had always been inseparable, and this felt too much like a betrayal.

Without hesitating, Lovino ran across the courtyard. The corner where they'd turned aside led to a narrow corridor, and at the end of it a fork. Lovino glimpsed the trailing end of a robe disappearing down the right hand path and hurried after it.

Skidding round the corner, Lovino ploughed straight into someone coming the other way. Books and parchment and quills went flying, and a bottle of ink was seeping into the flagstones.

"Shit shit _shit! _Sorry," Lovino said. He knelt down to help pick up his victim's belongings. Lovino scrabbled to right the inkwell before it emptied completely. At the same time, so did the person he'd collided with, and their hands brushed together.

A spark of electricity ran through him, and even before Lovino had raised his eyes he knew who this was.

He glanced up to see Antonio staring back at him, lips curved in a smile and green eyes sparkling.

_"Hola, Lovi!_ Sorry for knocking you over." He held out his hands to take back his things.

And just like that the full weight of Lovino's epiphany slammed down like a tonne of bricks. No amount of denial could help him now; Lovino was helplessly, hopelessly in love with a green-eyed _idiot _who loved someone else.

Antonio blinked. "Lovi? Are you okay?"

Lovino scowled. He bit the inside of his cheek until he was sure he could speak without blurting anything out, and then he said, "Don't apologise,_ idiota._ I crashed into you." He shoved Antonio's things at him and clambered to his feet.

Antonio stood up, grinning. "We crashed into each other, then. You were in a hurry? Seemed like you have somewhere to be."

Lovino remembered what he'd been doing and blushed. Had he always been so petty? "Not really," he said.

Antonio's face brightened. "In that case, do you want to come with me to -"

_Merda_. "Ah, sorry, I just remembered I have to, um, do this thing with, with Lars."

Antonio's face fell, and Lovino's stomach twisted with guilt. "Okay. See you soon, Lovi?"

"Sure," Lovino lied. Pushing past Antonio, he headed back to the common room.

Everything was spiralling out of control. Avoiding Antonio was difficult, but if he had to he'd do it. But pushing all his anger onto Feli just wasn't fair. If he didn't find some way to get rid of his feelings for Antonio, he'd end up estranged not only from his friend, but from his _fratello _too.

He needed to solve this, and quickly.

* * *

><p>The next day was a Saturday. The sun had managed to struggle through the clouds and most students were celebrating the chance for some vitamin D, heading for Hogsmeade or for the lake.<p>

Lovino, however, stayed in the library. It was the easiest way to avoid Antonio while he tried to clear his head.

Occasionally he glanced wistfully at the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the dust-clouds that filled the library, wondering whether to give in and go out. After all, this was England; the sun probably wouldn't show its face for the next year or so.

Eventually, he'd finished all his overdue essays and his work for the next week and was utterly sick of study. Closing his books, Lovino made his way to the Prefects' bathroom (Arthur had long since given him the password) and took the longest bath of his life.

Lovino was assailed by an owl as soon as he stepped outside. Three sharp nips later, Lovino was unfolding a small note. It was unmistakably Feli's handwriting, and typically had just three words: _Come to Honeydukes?_

Lovino cast a quick _Tempus_ charm. It was nearly six o'clock, and Lovino had spent the whole day bored out of his skull. Besides, at this time most students would be on their way back from Hogsmeade - including, in all likelihood, Antonio. The spaniard was an up-and-out person, so he'd almost certainly be heading for Hogwarts by now, if he wasn't back already.

Grabbing some money and a broomstick, Lovino made his way over to Hogsmeade.

* * *

><p>Typically Feli was late, and Lovino had been waiting in Honeyduke's for almost ten minutes when he heard the bell chime to mark a new customer.<p>

"At last! I was beginning to wonder if you'd got lost, Feli. Why -" Lovino stopped.

Because it wasn't Feli who'd come in. It was Antonio.

Antonio looked just as surprised to see him as Lovino himself had been, and that was the only thing that saved him from Lovino's ire.

Antonio grinned, closing the door behind him. Deliberately or not, he was blocking the exit, and Lovino was trapped. _"Hola, Lovi! Como estás?_ Haven't seen you for ages!"

"What are you doing here?" Lovino replied.

Antonio's smile faltered slightly at Lovino's tone, but it soon returned full force. "Feli asked me to meet him here. And you?"

"Same. Well, he's clearly not coming so I'll just -"

Antonio stepped in front of him, and this time it was definitely deliberate. "He's probably just held up, he'll be here soon. Why don't we wait?"

"You can wait, but I should probably head back." He tried to sound casual, but his heart was going a mile a minute. "I've got stuff to do." Lovino tried to push past, but Antonio's hand encircled his wrist. Lovino prayed Antonio wouldn't notice his heartbeat accelerate under his touch.

"Are you avoiding me, Lovi?"

Before Lovino could answer, they were interrupted by Mrs Flume. "Excuse me, but are you two going to buy anything? We're about to close up."

Antonio smiled at her. "Of course, sorry to inconvenience you. We'll go."

Mrs Flume beamed. "Thank you, chuck."

They left Honeyduke's. Antonio didn't let go of Lovino, but instead moved his hand to hold Lovino's own rather than grasping his wrist. He tugged Lovino down the alley that ran alongside the store.

Lovino gathered his wits. Snatching back his hand, he glared at Antonio. "What are you -"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not!"

Antonio's eyes flashed. "Don't lie, Lovi!"

Lovino looked back at him silently. Frustrated, Antonio tugged a hand through his hair. "Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Just -" he broke off and sighed. Lowering his eyes, he stepped back. _"Lo siento,_ Lovi. I -"

The knot in Lovino's stomach wrenched tighter. He'd been avoiding Antonio for a week now, and if anything his feelings had only intensified. "This isn't working," Lovino said aloud.

Antonio glanced at him. "What isn't?"

"Nothing," Lovino said, thinking. Clearly, avoiding Antonio was fruitless. Maybe what he needed was closure.

Antonio nodded. "I'll leave you alone, then."

And then it was Lovino's turn. He grabbed Antonio's wrist and before logic could butt in, Lovino pressed his lips against Antonio's.

It was chaste, only a brief touch, but already Lovino was crying out for more. It took all of his willpower to draw back mere inches.

_"Lovi…"_ Antonio whispered, and his breath skated across Lovino's lips. Lovino hadn't been able to move his eyes from Antonio's mouth, and so he saw the way Antonio said his name in tortuous detail - the 'L', with the tip of his tongue touching the roof of his mouth, and the 'V' a soft press of teeth and lower lip.

And suddenly Antonio was pushing him against the wall. Cold brick scraped at his back, but it was okay because Tonio was kissing him.

Lovino stiffened in surprise and Antonio smoothed the pad of his thumb against his cheekbone, cupped his face as if he were precious. Antonio's tongue swept across the seam of Lovino's lips, and he opened his mouth, desperate to be closer. Antonio's kiss was warm and sweet as liquid honey, his lips velvet-soft as petals. Each light press of his mouth was wondrous. Lovino's head was dizzy with desire.

Antonio drew back, panting. His eyes were closed, lashes lying thick as shadows against his cheekbones. He leant his forehead against Lovino's. Lovino's gaze drifted down to Antonio's lips; they were swollen by his kiss. Dazed, Lovino traced the line of Antonio's lips with a trembling finger.

Antonio's eyes opened, and Lovino caught his breath. He'd never seen Antonio's eyes so close. Tiny flecks of gold studded the green of his iris, like slivers of sunlight filtered through trees. The corners of Antonio's mouth quirked up in a tiny smile, one that Lovino had never seen before. It was small and private, and yet somehow it made his heart race more than any of Antonio's thousand-watt smiles.

_What are we doing?_

Pushing Antonio out of the way, Lovino stumbled out of the alley and fled.

* * *

><p>Lovino couldn't sleep that night. His thoughts kept circling back to the kiss, and the look in Antonio's eyes.<p>

So much for closure. The only thing he'd gained from the kiss was a crippling sense of loss and the realisation that he truly was utterly fucked.

Even though everything had felt so genuine at the time, Lovino knew he'd just imagined it. There was no way Antonio liked him. _Feli_ was the cute one, the friendly one, with the ever-present smile and the ready laugh. What had Lovino got?

For the first time in his life, Lovino was starting to resent Feli.

Groaning, he tossed back the covers and padded over to the window. Without thinking he leant against the glass; it was icy cold against his forehead. It brought back the memory of Antonio's warmth. He'd never feel that warmth again. Suddenly it felt as if his ribs had shrunk and constricted his heart.

When Lovino was seven, he'd stepped on a nest of hornets. They'd swarmed out and stung him all over. Since then, Lovino had been sure he'd never encounter anything more painful.

The sharp, stabbing pain he felt whenever he thought of Antonio and Feli was the first thing to prove that wrong.

Lovino shivered. He crawled back into his bed, pulling the duvet up over his head. He just had to take things one day at a time.

He drifted off to dreams of honey and petals.

* * *

><p>After his scant three hours of sleep on Saturday night, Lovino's Sunday was not particularly active.<p>

He didn't leave his room all morning, interspersing catnaps and chats with Mattie, and even then his siesta lasted twice as long as usual. When he woke up, it was five o'clock.

By the time he'd fumbled his way down to the Hufflepuff commonroom, most of his housemates were sitting and chatting. Yawning, Lovino made a beeline for one of the cosy fireside armchairs.

Only to find his path blocked.

Without warning, the liquid notes of a guitar sung out. Antonio was here, and so was his _Corazón_.

Antonio started singing, voice rich yet clear. He was singing in Italian, and the lyrics were those of a love song.

Lovino had always loved hearing Antonio's lilting accent shape the words of his mother tongue. He had to clench his fists to stop himself reaching out for Antonio.

With a shock Lovino realised that the common room was utterly silent. Everyone was looking at them. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares.

What was Antonio trying to do? Humiliate him as punishment for yesterday? This was beyond cruel. The back of Lovino's eyes pricked with tears; he blinked to hold them back. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The final chord faded, and Antonio smiled.

_"Te quiero, Lovi."_ Laying his guitar to one side, Antonio reached out for Lovino.

Who slapped his hand away.

He was shaking with anger. There were so many things Lovino wanted to say to Antonio, but he wouldn't do it here, not with so many onlookers. Instead he just settled for one word. _"Vaffanculo." Fuck you._

Spinning round, Lovino stomped out of the common room and slammed the portrait hole behind him.

_One day at a time._

* * *

><p>Wow. This chapter is a monster; nearly 5K words. I guess you guys deserve it after such a long wait.<p>

(In case anyone didn't realise, _Corazón _is the name Antonio has given his guitar. It means 'heart'.)

The next chapter will be another Spamano, and then we'll be returning to the plot. It's slightly difficult because as I said, I don't remember much of the plot and I don't have a physical record. I'm sure things will work themselves out.

If anyone has a suggestion for Tonio's song, please tell me :) I'm not very well versed in Spanish music, sadly. Also, any corrections for my Italian would be great - it was all wordreference so may not be right.

Thanks for reading all of this, and if you liked it/hated it please do tell me in a review!

*For anyone who isn't a Potterhead, this opens the door to the Hufflepuff commonroom. _(Thanks anon!)_

Thanks to DianeCahill for correcting my Italian! :)


	15. Chapter Eleven and Three Quarters

A/N - I've temporarily changed the 'Properties' characters to Spain and Romano because I realise that there are some people who are reading this for the FrUK, not for the Spamano, and this hopefully should prevent confusion. It IS still a FrUK fic, don't worry!

Speedy update is speedy :D

_Anons:_

_Guest:_ Thank you, glad you liked it! Yeah Lovi's a little bit thick XD Hope the update lives up to expectations!

_Guest no2:_ Thanks so much! And cheers for correcting my mistake, I've fixed things :)

_Guest no3:_ *blushes* thank you! Glad you enjoyed the Spamano chapter; hope you like this next one, too!

_Guest no4:_ Yeah sorry about the wait… Glad I could make you laugh! :D Yeah I was pretty proud of that line… it was uncharacteristically amusing of me :) Thanks for the compliments! I shall try and put in some BTT; I do so love all three characters.

* * *

><p>Antonio's head hurt.<p>

Which was odd, really - after all, it was his heart that had been broken. His head throbbed with another wave of pain, and Antonio leant back against the wall, closing his eyes.

He should be feeling something, shouldn't he? But there was nothing. Antonio wasn't sad, or disappointed, or angry; there was an utter absence of emotion.

A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. "No loitering in the halls!"

It was Filch. Under the caretaker's watchful eye, Antonio headed off.

He wandered at random, eventually finding himself standing in front of the door to Gil and Francis' dorm. It was open a crack, and Antonio could hear voices within.

"Where d'you think he is now?" Francis' voice_._

"Dunno. Probably fucking the kid's brains out somewhere," Gil this time, and Antonio could hear his leer. "Ow! What was that for, Fanny?"

"Don't be crass. _Making love;_ that is a phrase in English, is it not?"

"Only for pussies," Gil said sourly.

Listening to his friends arguing brought Antonio a flicker of emotion, and he panicked. He didn't want to feel again. He didn't want to have to face the realisation that Lovi…

_"Mierda,"*_ Antonio whispered. He was shaking slightly, and wasn't that pathetic?

Antonio had spoken quietly, just a breath of a word, but Francis' hearing would put a bat to shame. He turned around at once and caught sight of Antonio hovering.

_"Antoine! Bon soir, mon ami! _How was it?" Francis winked.

_"Mein Gott,_ you're crying!" Gil cackled. "Was it that good?"

Antonio frowned and touched his cheek. When he took his hand away it glistened with tears. Huh. He hadn't noticed.

Francis' grin faded. He leapt to his feet and grabbed Antonio's shoulder, steering him to sit down on the bed.

"What happened?" He asked.

Antonio blinked, because the world was blurry and he couldn't think. _"Vaffanculo."_

Francis frowned. _"Quoi?"_

_"Vaffanculo._ That's what Lovi said. It means, fuck you."

There was a silence, and then Gil hissed. His hands were clenched at his sides. "That little _shit."_

"No, it's okay," Antonio said. "It's not his fault."

"Yes, it fucking well _is." _Gil yanked a hand through his hair. "How could he do this to you?"

Francis paused in his pacing. "He didn't mean it. There's no way he meant it."

Antonio smiled weakly. "There was no mistake."

Francis sat down beside Antonio and put his arm around his shoulder. _"Je suis désolé, Antoine._ I was so sure that he… I wouldn't have encouraged have you if I weren't."

"Don't worry about it," Antonio said.

Gil sprung to his feet. "I'll be right back."

Antonio caught his arm. "Where are you going?" Gil was still looking murderous, and he didn't want Lovi to get hurt.

"Don't worry, I won't kill the brat. I won't even talk to him unless you okay it. I'm going to get as much Firewhisky as physically possible, and then we are going to get absolutely pissed out of our skulls."

* * *

><p>Quarter of an hour later, Gil was back. He held two crates of Firewhisky, a third hovering just behind him. He dumped them on the bed and plonked himself down beside them.<p>

"Drink up," Gil said, tossing Francis and Antonio a bottle each. He himself had two already, one in each hand.

Francis tied back his hair. He took a delicate sip, wincing, and then he glanced at Antonio. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Antonio said automatically.

"Don't make me hit you," Gil said.

Antonio lowered his eyes, worrying at the edge of the blanket. After a moment he said, "I can feel my pulse, and I can hear the roar of blood in my ears. But it doesn't feel like my heart… works."

Gil and Francis were both looking at him with pity in their eyes.

"At least I have closure,_"_ Antonio said.

"Tonio…" Gil said, and Antonio hadn't realised the brash Prussian could sound so gentle.

Suddenly, Antonio exhausted. He stood abruptly, chugging the rest of his Firewhisky. _"Gracias."_ He yawned. _"Lo siento, estoy cansado_.* I'll go back to my dorm. _¡Hasta luego!"_

Gil scrambled up. "Wait! Stay here, you can take Franny's bed. You… If Filch catches you like that, he'll slaughter you! And then he'll dismember you, barbecue you, and scatter your charred remains," he added.

Antonio hesitated.

"He's right," Francis agreed. "Besides, Gil has, ah, _found_ all this Firewhisky. Can't let it go to waste, _n'est pas?"_

"Of course not," Antonio said.

Time blurred as the three of them got more and more drunk. It was Gil and Francis who were carrying the conversation; for the moment, Antonio was simply doing his best to carry on.

He fell asleep sandwiched between Gil and Francis, with an empty crate at his feet and a bottle of Firewhisky hugged to his chest.

* * *

><p>When Antonio woke up, Gil was still snoring loudly. Uncharacteristically, Francis was already up and nowhere to be seen.<p>

Antonio sat up gingerly, wincing as his head throbbed in protest. He wasn't used to drinking a lot.

The door swung open and Francis entered with two glasses and a vial of Pepperup. Gil always swore that, as well as curing the common cold, the potion was great for hangovers.

_"Bonjour, comment ça va?"_ Francis asked, closing the door behind him so that it didn't slam.

"I've felt better," Antonio said, taking the glass. He nudged Gil with his elbow. "Gil, wake up."

Gil grunted. "Whassatime?"

"Late," said Francis, shoving the glass into Gil's hand. "Drink up!"

"Nnnggh," Gil said.

"Erudite as ever, I see," Francis commented. He turned to Antonio, eyes softening. "Can I get you anything, Antonio?"

Antonio felt a flare of anger. "Stop treating me like glass, Francis!" He snapped. "I'll get over him, and in the mean time I don't want to be patronised."

Francis' eyes flashed, but then he nodded. _"Tu as raison.*_ I didn't mean to offend you."

_"Lo siento,_ Francis." Antonio ground his knuckles into his eyes. He was being unfair. "I'm being a dick. Ignore me."

"Both of you are retarded," Gil said cheerfully.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "I see you've finished the pepperup?"

"Yup, right in one." Gil lunged for the crate, cackling. "Onto the hair of the dog!"

"I think we finished all the Firewhisky…" Antonio said.

Gil paused, eyes round. "All of it?"

Antonio nodded.

"Huh." Gil broke into a grin. He leant over and slapped Antonio on the back. "Well done, Tonio! We make a great team."

"Ready for breakfast?" Francis asked. He frowned. _"Eh bien, c'est plus comme le déjeuner…"_*

They tugged on their robes and headed to the Great Hall.

They hadn't been there more than ten minutes when Lilli appeared, plonking herself down opposite them. "Hey! Looking forward to the Ball?"

_"Pas du tout.*_ I have to take Rebecca." Francis said morosely.

The Yule Ball - Antonio had completely forgotten. It was tonight. "Who are you going with?" Antonio asked.

Lilli made a moue of discontent. "Ah, I can't go. Vash won't let me without a chaperone, and I'm sixteen! There's no way I'm asking anyone to act as nursemaid."

"I'll chaperone you," Antonio blurted. Maybe it wouldn't work, but he wanted to go. He wanted to prove to himself that he could move on from Lovi.

Lilli blinked. "You're not going with…?" She glanced at Gil and cut herself off. "That would be great, thanks!" She sprung up, abandoning her just-buttered slice of toast. "I'd better go buy a dress. I'll pick you up at seven, okay? See you!"

_"Adios,"_ Antonio smiled.

"Sixteen? I always thought she was younger," said Francis.

Gil grabbed Lilli's abandoned toast and munched on it thoughtfully. "She probably does it deliberately, so people underestimate her."

"It works…" Francis muttered, and Antonio knew he was remembering her helping Elizabeta sell the photos. He smiled.

Gil jabbed a finger at him, crowing in triumph and revealing more half-chewed food than Antonio had ever wanted to see. "A smile!" He clutched his heart dramatically and winked. "Don't worry, Tonio. Things will be back to normal before you know it."

Antonio grinned. Maybe Gil was right; maybe he could learn to live with that hollow feeling. Maybe it would make the times of happiness even more intense. _"Espero que sí."_

Gil nodded confidently. "The King of Awesome is always right." Gilbird chirped in agreement.

Antonio glanced up, and by chance caught Lovino's eye across the hall. It was as if his ribs had constricted like a hand around his heart. Suddenly, he was struck with the memory of Lovi's kiss. It had only been two days ago; it was odd to think how much had changed since then.

No matter what Gil said, he couldn't picture things ever entirely back to normal.

* * *

><p>Seven o'clock came round unexpectedly fast, and before Antonio knew it Lilli was knocking on the door.<p>

"You look beautiful, Lilli!"

It wasn't a lie. She was wearing a long, wine-red dress with a full skirt. Delicate roses had been subtly stitched onto the bodice, the thread only slightly darker than the fabric itself.

She blushed. "Thanks, Tony! You look nice too. Though I can't help but feel that a different colour tie… Do you have one in green?"

Antonio glanced down at his tie. It was on loan from Al, and it was a fiery Gryffindor red. _"Lo siento,_ this isn't even mine."

"Hmm…" Lilli eyed him critically and shook her head. "No, it doesn't work. Could you borrow one?"

"Ah, _sí_. Francis is here, hiding from Rebecca; he'll have one. Francis!"

Francis appeared round the door, bare-chested and towelling his hair. When he saw Lilli he yelped and leapt back. "She doesn't have a camera, does she?"

"Like I'd waste my film on that," Lilli said scornfully. Francis looked hurt. "Do you have a green tie Tony can borrow?"

_"Ouais_._"_ He disappeared for a moment and when he came back he was carrying a green tie. It was slightly lighter than the Syltherin green Antonio had expected, and less blue. Under Lilli's instructions, Antonio took off Al's tie and replaced it with the new one.

Lilli stepped back and looked him up and down. She smiled. "Perfect. It matches your eyes, you see. Let's go!"

_"Bien._ I'll see you later, Francis. Good luck with Rebecca!"

_"Merci,"_ Francis called. _"A plus tard!"*_

Shutting the door, Antonio and Lilli made their way to the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>At first, Antonio thought that Lovino hadn't come. He couldn't stop himself from seeking him out, but Lovi wasn't there.<p>

Then Gil and Matt arrived, and quarter of an hour later Francis appeared trailing Rebecca, and Antonio let himself relax. He danced with Lilli a couple of times, and once with Gil. At the end of that particular experience, Antonio's feet were bruised and he'd lost all feeling in three of his toes, but he was laughing as he hadn't for a while now.

Of course, that had to be when he caught sight of Lovi.

He was with some girl, pushing aside her dark hair to whisper into her ear. It was Kate, he realised. She was in his house; a sweet girl, confident and kind and an excellent Seeker. But cold jealousy dug its claws into Antonio's gut, and for a moment he hated her.

Antonio felt sick. Unable to help himself, he glanced at Lovi. Their eyes met, and even from this distance Lovino's gaze was electrifying.

"Antonio? You okay, man?"

Antonio whipped his head round. He smiled at Gil. _"Sí, estoy bien._ I'm just going to… go outside. It's too hot in here, _sabes?" _He pushed past before Gil could reply.

Outside it was sharp and cool. He leant against the balustrade and gulped in draughts of fresh air, remembering.

Lovi had been so cute when he was little, Antonio reflected. Feli, too, but there was something adorable about Lovi's frowning pout and the way he'd blush and splutter denial. Thinking about it, he'd probably been in love with him since the beginning.

"He'll probably never talk to me again," Antonio realised. He'd seen Lovi mad before, many a time - often he'd deliberately provoked him, because Lovi was just so _cute_ when he was furious. But in all the time he'd known Lovi, Antonio had never seen him as angry as he had been yesterday.

"Tony?"

Antonio glanced round. Lilli was silhouetted in the light from the doorway. "Are you okay?" She asked.

_"Lo siento._ I'm not doing very well as a chaperone, am I?"

"You're in love with Lovino, aren't you?" Lilli said.

Antonio nodded; the words stuck in his throat.

Lilli smiled. "He loves you too, you know. Both of you are just too stupid to see it."

Antonio didn't reply.

"Things will work out soon enough, I think. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the party." She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. "Thanks for chaperoning me, Tony!"

"If you need me, I'll be here," Antonio offered.

Lilli grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As she slipped out, Antonio caught a glimpse of Kate. The image of her with Lovi flashed before his eyes.

If only Lilli were right.

* * *

><p>Antonio had been outside for almost half an hour when he was next interrupted. Soft footsteps echoed behind him, and he didn't bother turning around.<p>

"Sorry, Gil, I didn't mean to rush off. I guess I overreacted, but he was with Kate and -"

"Antonio."

Lovi's voice. Antonio would recognise it anywhere.

Slowly, he turned to face him.

Lovi swallowed, and Antonio saw his Adam's apple bob. "I talked to Gil," he said.

There was a silence. "Ah, _sí?"_

"He showed me something. In the pensieve."

Another pause. "What did he show you?" Antonio asked. He didn't really care, but the sooner this conversation was over, the better.

"A lot of things. He and Feli… Well, that's not important. He showed me memories of you. About me. About…" Lovi halted. "You love me."

"Yes." Antonio said. He couldn't deny it.

Lovi's eyes widened. He took a step closer, and then he hesitated and said, "Before - before anything, I need to explain. I want to start this right. I'm not going to mess this up, because this - you - are important." Lovi's face was flaming.

_Just like a tomato, _Antonio thought - how many times had he teased Lovi about it?

Lovi chewed his lip and went on. "I thought you, for Feli. And yesterday, with the guitar, I thought you were trying to - to humiliate me, because of what I did in the alley. It was supposed to be _closure_, you see? Only it just made me realise that I, you know. You."

Against his will, Antonio felt a bubble of hope well up inside him. _No_. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. He shook his head. _"Nunca. _Feli is cute like a puppy, or a little brother. I have always loved you, only you."

And then Lovi closed the space between them, pressing his lips against Antonio's in a soft kiss. When he drew back, his face filled with horror. _"Merda,_ don't cry! Oh _shit_ I didn't mean to - sorry!"

Antonio felt Lovi's hands cup his face, thumbs smoothing away his tears. He took Lovi's hands in his own and kissed each of them in turn. _"Gracias, _Lovi,_ gracias."_

"For what?" Lovi said, and Antonio kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm fine. I'll move on - I'll try to - and it'll be enough to have you by my side. So don't… _force_ yourself to date me, because these feelings I have - I'd rather see you with someone else and see you happy, than have you for myself and see you sad."

For a moment Lovino stared at him, his mouth an O of surprise. Then he scowled. _"Che cazzo?_ It's like you don't listen to anything I say. I love you, idiot." Lovi's blush deepened at the admission. "Besides, would I really do this because of pity?" He kissed Antonio again, more fervently.

Twining his hands into Antonio's hair, Lovi deepened the kiss. His mouth was warm, and suddenly the hollowness inside Antonio was filled with a myriad spectrum of emotions, of happiness and desire and relief and love and countless other feelings that he couldn't name.

Lovi drew back for a moment, his breathing ragged. "Do you think I would be like this because of pity?" He slanted his hips against Antonio's, and he could feel Lovi was as hard as he was.

"Lovi…" Antonio breathed. He was overflowing with feeling, physical and emotional blurring into a mess of pure _happy_.

Suddenly Lovi blushed. He buried his face in Antonio's neck, and Antonio brought his hands up to hold him close, marvelling at the knowledge that Lovi was _his_.

Lovino shifted slightly, twisting around to press a kiss into the curve of Antonio's neck. "Mine," he said quietly.

"Yours," Antonio said, and they sealed it with a kiss.

* * *

><p>…and a lot more. Haha. (I can't write smut.)<p>

Good God, the number of loose ends in this… I'm sorry. I didn't plan anything at all, and as a result there are several things that don't entirely make sense. I won't point them out, but any suggestions are welcome!

Reviews are awesome, by the way. :D

Translations:

_"Mierda," - _shit

_"Lo siento, estoy cansado_." - Sorry, I'm tired.

_"Tu as raison." - _You're right.

_"Eh bien, c'est plus comme le déjeuner…"_ - Well, it's more like lunch.

_"Pas du tout."_ - Not at all.

_"A plus tard."_ - Until later.

_"Nunca."_ - Never.


	16. Chapter Twelve

A/N - By this point, I think the apology is pretty much a given. Again, I'm sorry for the hiatus!

They finally get together in this one :D Things are winding down, people! Look to the ending; only three more chapters to go!

**I have had to make some changes to previous parts of this fic. **They're mainly continuity issues, because I had to basically rewrite the plot when my laptop died. But because of that, there might be some aspects that are entirely out of the blue; I'm very sorry for that, and I have gone back and changed what needs to be changed.

* * *

><p>It was the last lesson of the school term, and Francis had daydreamed it away. Charms was his favourite subject, but after the Yule Ball yesterday he'd been somewhat preoccupied.<p>

Previously he'd never been sure where he stood with Arthur. There had been times when Francis thought they were just friends, and times when he thought they were edging towards something more. But at some point the idea that Francis and Arthur could become Francis-and-Arthur was filed away in a corner of Francis' mind labelled _Unattainable Fantasies, _and for the sake of their friendship he'd tried to keep that particular box firmly shut.

And then yesterday happened.

_Francis went to the Yule Ball with Rebecca, without much choice in the matter; that girl was nothing if not tenacious. He danced with her once for courtesy's sake, holding her at a somewhat stiff distance before smiling and ducking away for some fresh air and a hiding place._

_Tonio and Lovino were kissing on the balcony; Francis grinned to see they'd sorted things out. According to Arthur, they'd been dancing around each other for years now. Leaving the hall he headed up to the astronomy tower, mainly because it was as far away from the festivities as physically possible._

_The book and blanket nest were completely unexpected. Vian's _L'écume des jours_ - it was one of Francis' favourite books. On the inside cover, the name_ _Marie Wright was written in curling script.__ The tower was empty so he sat down, cast a quick Lumos, and started to read._

_The book was in the original French, and Francis relished the return to his mother tongue. He loved English, but French had a much more lyrical quality. When the owner returned for their book, maybe they could talk? It had been too long since Francis had a conversation in French._

_He'd barely read three pages when there was a thud and a hissed, "Bugger!", and then Arthur stood in the doorway, mug in hand._

_Francis grinned and brandished the book. "Look what I found!"_

_"You didn't lose my place, did you?"_

_"C'est ton livre?"_

_Arthur smiled. "Yeah."_

_"Alors, tu parles français?" _

_"Yeah."_

_Francis studied Arthur's face and switched back to English. "But you don't like to?"_

_Arthur sighed. "It's… complicated. I like the literature, but at the same time…"_

_Francis waited._

_"I'm not telling you this for you to pity me, and if you dare treat me any differently I swear to God I'll…" Arthur trailed off._

_"Shave off all my hair and burn it in front of me?" Francis offered, trying very hard not to wince._

_He was rewarded with a tiny smile. "Something like that," Arthur said. He chewed on his thumbnail and angled away from Francis. Glaring out the window, he started to speak. "My parents died when I was seven. My uncle married this French lady, Marie, and she didn't like me. It wasn't her fault - I was a little shit when I was younger, and she didn't expect to be landed with a grumpy little orphan who didn't understand a word she said - but we didn't get on well."_

_He glanced over his shoulder at Francis, who realised that he'd just growled. The thought of Arthur as a child, lonely and confused and hurt, wasn't something he could entirely cope with._

_"Not in an evil-stepmother way, just in a things-were-always-awkward way, and it got slightly worse when I met Tink and Flying Mint Bunny. They thought I was insane. Spent my inheritance on psych evals - I think they were relieved when my letter came." Arthur smiled ruefully. "Better magic than mad, right?"_

_Francis stalked across the tower and wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him as close as possible._

_Arthur squawked and nearly dropped his mug. "Christ, Francis, you nearly spilt my tea! Git," he said, but he set his tea on the windowsill and leaned back into Francis' embrace._

_Both of them were silent, until Arthur said quietly, "They've split up now. She was always flirting, but my uncle thought nothing of it. Turned out she'd been cheating on him for years."_

_Memories flashed through Francis' mind. Arthur had seen Francis flirting, seen him kiss that Slytherin chaser. "It was just a kiss, tu sais?" Francis had said. And the expression that had flickered across Arthur's face, as if he were hurt by it. Arthur must have seen Marie in him._

_I didn't mean it like that. I was scared, because for all my experience I've never felt this before. I was just trying to return to normal, trying to pretend I wasn't so far gone on you._

_The words stuck in his throat. Instead Francis turned Arthur to face him, pressing their foreheads together. I would never, he thought fiercely, willing Arthur to read the words in his eyes._

_Arthur smiled. "I know."_

_And suddenly Arthur's mouth was pressed warm against his own. Arthur's hands wound in his hair, tugging gently to manoeuvre into a better angle, and Francis' mind finally caught up with the situation. He kissed back as hard and as soft as he could, and suddenly there was a knee between his thighs and oh God Arthur -_

_He must have said it aloud, because he could feel Arthur's lips curving into a smile. "Tease," Francis said, pinching the soft skin below Arthur's ribcage. Arthur yelped and retaliated by yanking Francis' hair, and things rapidly descended into a fight._

_They tussled until Francis had Arthur pinned to the floor. He leaned over him and grinned. "Right where I want you," he teased._

_Arthur huffed a laugh and hooked his foot around Francis' ankle, flipping them over and straddling his thighs so Francis couldn't move. "Right where I want you," he mimicked._

_Francis pouted. "Mon cher, I do not speak with such a ridiculous accent. Besides, that was cheating!"_

_"Was it? I don't see a rule book," Arthur said. All at once, Arthur's grin vanished and his gaze turned predatory. "What shall I do with you now?" He bent forwards, until Francis could see every fleck of gold in his eyes._

_"Arthur…" He breathed._

_Arthur rolled his hips against Francis' own and he bit back a moan, eyes fluttering shut._

_Above him, Arthur swallowed. Shakily he said, "Do you know what you look like right now, Francis? Do you have any idea?"_

_Francis opened his eyes. He looked up at Arthur and laughed disbelievingly. "Do you?" Reaching up, he cupped his hand round Arthur's jawline and dragged him into a kiss._

Flitwick's voice interrupted Francis' thoughts; they were being dismissed. Flitwick trilled a high-pitched farewell, and he hoped they'd enjoy the holidays and get a good rest for next term. The students chorused a reply and stampeded out of the classroom. Francis followed more slowly, still flushed from the memory of last night.

Come to think of it, Arthur's book was still up there in the tower. He'd get it after they got back from the station.

Both he and Arthur were staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, but Gil had threatened to eviscerate them if they didn't wave off the train. The Hogwarts Express was due to depart in an hour, and if he knew Gil the idiot would be frantically trying to cram his belongings into his trunk right about now. All Francis really wanted was to find Arthur, but they'd have the whole of the Christmas holidays alone together.

Sighing, Francis traipsed to the Slytherin dormitories to help Gil.

* * *

><p>Fifty-six minutes later, Francis was engaged in a mad rush to the station. Beside him Gil sprinted along, carrying his trunk with an ease that bespoke much practice at running and dragging heavy cases.<p>

"This happens every year, doesn't it?"

"Yup. Normally Arthur's here ranting at me about organisation and timeliness, though. Wonder where he's gone?"

_"Ouais."_ Francis said noncommittally. Arthur was making another trip to Alaric's potions cupboard - apparently now was the perfect time, as all the professors were busy herding excited First Years onto the train home.

"Anyway, he gives me the same speech every year. Could probably recite it by now; _For fuck's sakes, Beilschmidt - _that's what he calls me when he wants me to think he's pissed at me - _is there no way you could get your shit together even ten minutes before the train leaves? _Bla di bla bla bla." Gil shifted the trunk higher up on his shoulder for the final spurt.

Hagrid stood on the platform, huge bulk towering over Matthew. Arthur stood beside him, hands on his hips and glaring at Gil.

"Hi babe!" Gil said, swooping in and pecking Matthew on the cheek. "Thanks for waiting."

"No problem," Matthew smiled. The tips of his ears were pink with a blush. "Glad you didn't miss the train."

"You're late," Arthur growled.

Gil drew himself up to his full height. "A wizard is never late, nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he intends to."

Arthur choked in outrage. "Hey! Keep your paws off my favourite author, Beilschmidt. Tolkien's wisdom is far too great to be parroted by the likes of you."

Gil turned to Francis and grinned. "See?"

"See what?" Arthur scowled.

"Nothing!" Gil sang. "Thanks for holding the train, Mattie. _Adios,_ Frannie, Artie-boy." He slung his trunk on board and leapt on behind it.

"I should've lied and told them to leave without him," Arthur commented darkly. "Thanks, Hagrid. Sorry for the delay."

"No problem, Arthur." Hagrid winked. "Know wha' he's like, tha' Gil. Surprised t'see him only four minutes late!"

Gil stuck his head out a window. "Oi! I heard that!"

"Sod off," Arthur laughed.

The train pulled out the station, their friends calling and waving goodbyes from the open windows. Francis' throat constricted; back in France, he hadn't realised how lonely he'd been. Now, he couldn't imagine being without all of them; Shelley, Lilli, Al, Mattie, Tonio, Gil, and of course Arthur.

Even Elizabeta was surprisingly nice - if terrifying.

Arthur took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Stop thinking so loudly."

Side by side, they watched the train out of sight.

* * *

><p>Once everyone had gone, Francis and Arthur went to visit Libby.<p>

The forest was silent. A palpable aura of darkness hung over it, thick as fog. When they arrived at Libby's cabin, she was unusually subdued, and only kicked up a small struggle when Arthur brought up his suggestion.

"I want to bring you into the castle," Arthur said as Libby inhaled her supper. His jaw was clenched stubbornly, and Francis knew that meant refusal wasn't an option.

"Nope. Like it here. Castle too much like a prison." Between every phrase, she gulped down another steak.

Arthur sighed. "Libby, I know you want to be free, but it's dangerous here."

"It wouldn't be for long," Francis added. "We're making the potion tonight, and tomorrow we kill it." _Try to kill it, but Libby doesn't need to know that._

Arthur nodded vigorously. "Exactly. And in the meantime, the Room of Requirement will provide you with anything you need it to. You can have all the steak you want."

Libby narrowed her eyes, tail lashing as she considered this proposal. "You can bring me food here. Nope."

"I'm not asking, Libby." Arthur's voice was sharp. "I will drag you if that's what it takes. You may be a dragon, but I have magic - do you want to find out who's stronger?"

Libby looked furious. She opened her jaws to argue or end the fight with fire, but suddenly a cloud passed over the sun. At once she cowered back, ears flattened in fear.

Immediately, Arthur softened. He crouched down in front of Libby's hunched form, running his hand gently down her back. "Hey, don't worry! It's just a cloud, nothing to be afraid of. You're okay, I'll protect you."

Gradually Libby's muscles unclenched. When she'd stopped trembling she burrowed into Arthur's arms, burying her snout in the crook of his elbow. "Alright," she said. "I'll come to the castle."

Libby didn't move until they were out of the shadow of the forest, whereupon she settled herself on Arthur's shoulders, curling round him like a scarf. "It's not uncomfy like this, is it?" Libby asked. "Not that I'll move if it is," she added hastily. "I'm a princess, and you're only a servant - albeit my favourite."

"I thought I trained you out of all these airs and graces," Arthur said drily, exchanging a look with Francis. "But no, you're quite light. Besides, you're very warm; it's like having a portable heater wrapped around my neck."

Libby huffed. "I'm a dragon, not a heater."

"You're little more than the world's deadliest scarf, _mon petit,"_ Francis teased.

They made it back to the castle without attracting any attention. Soon Libby was safely in the Room of Requirement, napping contentedly after gnawing her way through a huge haunch of medium-rare cow.

On their way back, they ran into Filch. Francis tensed almost reflexively; beside him Arthur did the same.

"That was pathetic, Francis," whispered Arthur as soon as Filch was round the corner. "Really subtle there."

Francis elbowed him. "As if you were any better. Come on, let's go to the kitchen. I think I deserve some hot chocolate after that successful bit of smuggling."

"God, yes. And I could kill for a cuppa." Judging from the expression on Arthur's face, he wasn't exaggerating. Grinning, Arthur shoved Francis and sprinted off. "Race you there!" He called.

Francis lost, of course; Arthur was as fast as his patronus the hare. "Don't look so smug, Arthur. You only won because you cheated - again!" Francis stepped forwards, curling his hand around Arthur's hip. He'd left a hickey there yesterday. "Do I get a consolation prize?"

Arthur grinned. "You sleazy Frog." He pecked Francis on the cheek. Clearly Francis looked crestfallen, because Arthur laughed and grabbed his collar, tugging him into a much deeper kiss.

When they parted, neither went far. Francis felt too dizzy to move even if he'd wanted to.

"Better?" Arthur said against his mouth.

"Hmm." Francis paused, pretending to think. "Maybe. Again, to make sure?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He threaded their fingers together and dragged Francis into the kitchen. "I thought you wanted hot chocolate, Francis. Winky won't let you in if you look too debauched."

"True. Worth it, though."

Arthur smiled, glancing sidelong at him. "Wouldn't you rather have both?"

"Merry Christmas, young masters!" Chirped a house-elf. "Can I be getting you something?"

"Don't worry, we've just come for a drink," Arthur said. He glanced at Francis. "I'll make the tea, you handle the cocoa?"

"Can't make that, either?" Francis teased.

Arthur scowled, but nodded. "Tea's just about the only thing I can do," he admitted.

Ten minutes later, they were heading for the Ravenclaw commonroom. Arthur had a mug of tea in one hand and hot chocolate in the other, and was sipping from each in turn.

"How have you not spilt any?" Francis asked.

"Years of practice," Arthur said smugly. "I'm embarrassingly good at it."

Placing his mug on the coffee table, Francis stretched out on one of the sofas. Doubt flickered across Arthur's face, so Francis took his drinks, set them beside his own, and drew Arthur towards him.

Some shuffling later, Arthur was slotted against him back-to-chest, sitting in the vee of Francis' legs.

"You make an excellent chair," Arthur said. "I'm considering making this a permanent arrangement."

"I'm afraid I'll have to refuse. You move around far too much - ouch!" As Francis spoke, Arthur twisted to reach for his wand, leaning on his thigh.

_"Accio _notebook!" Arthur said. Seconds later a slim Moleskine pad zoomed into the room and flew into Arthur's hand. "Two options. Either we talk more about the potion, or we use this notebook for something productive."

"Noughts and crosses, or bilingual hangman?"

"This is why you're my favourite," Arthur said.

They spent the evening squabbling _("Mon cher, if syzygy is a word, so is qwertyuiop." "But syzygy is in the dictionary, and that's just a string of letters!") _and swapping cocoa-flavoured kisses.

* * *

><p>Sudden ending is sudden. Next chapter will be on its way shortly!<p>

Review? :3


	17. Chapter Thirteen

A/N - Okay at this point the apology is ubiquitous. Forgive me? Just take it as given that I'm a shitty person and that I feel bad about said shittiness :(

* * *

><p>The waning crescent was clear in the sky, its wicked grin untouched by cloud. Francis and Arthur were back up in the astronomy tower, preparing to brew the potion.<p>

"I still don't think it's a good idea to be up here," Francis said. _"Peut-être - _I mean, maybe it's just me, but isn't it a bit…distracting? After last time we were up here, I mean."

Arthur blushed. "A bit, yeah. But it's a dementor we're facing, so…" The rest of his words were mumbled too quietly for Francis to hear.

"Sorry? Didn't catch that," Francis said.

Arthur turned and busied himself with double-checking the ingredients. The nape of his neck was red - and how far down did that blush go, Francis wondered?

"This place… It's steeped in memories that will weaken a dementor." _Happy memories, he means._ Something inside Francis twisted. He was important to Arthur. _Dieu, _it was ridiculous how happy that made him.

Arthur went on. "Some of that strength will go into the potion, make it even more potent. And as long as you_ keep your hands to yourself_, I shouldn't get too distracted." Arthur glared at Francis.

He held his hands up. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn't have stopped it if he tried. "As if I would, _mon - _Arthur. I'll save it for when we've got more time," Francis winked.

"You don't have to do that, you know." Arthur said.

"Do what?"

"Avoid speaking in French, I mean. Marie was… I hated her; I think I projected that onto you at first, and for that I'm sorry. It wasn't fair, and I won't stop you from speaking in the language you love."

Halfway through, Francis realised that Arthur was speaking in French. "Gods, Arthur, that… You… That is unbelievably hot. If we didn't have a dementor to kill, I swear I would…" Francis trailed off, words snatched away as increasingly vivid images taunted his mind. _Arthur, flushed and __moaning, and that pretty red mouth pouting as he formed the words of Francis' language._

"Be screwing me six ways to Sunday?" Arthur grinned. His pupils were dilated, and Francis knew he'd been picturing it too. "Plenty of time for that later," he said. "But unfortunately, we have things to do first."

Francis groaned. "I wish we could just leave it to the Ministry and get on with the fucking."

Arthur sighed. "I know. It seems terribly arrogant to presume to fix things ourselves. But I know the Ministry; my uncle was an auror, and he's constantly complaining about how long everything takes with the bureaucracy. Worse…" Arthur paused. "It's probably stupid, but I can't help wondering - how did the dementor escape in the first place?"

"What do you mean?"

Arthur shifted. "I don't want to make baseless accusations, but after the War security got a lot tighter. They didn't want to risk dementors escaping again, after Voldemort turned so many to his side. But recently there's been a rumour that the Department of Mysteries is experimenting on dementors."

"And this could be one of them." It made sense - the French _Ministère _had access to whatever it wanted, and the Ministry was probably given the same privileges. "You think they gave it unicorn blood in one of these… Experiments? And that they weren't prepared for the consequences."

Arthur tugged a hand through his hair and laughed ruefully. "It's stupid, isn't it? Maybe we should just hand it over to the ministry."

"No, I think that makes sense." Arthur shot him a look. "And no, I'm not just saying this because I want to get into your pants… Though that would be an excellent bonus," he added.

Arthur smiled. "Thanks." An owl hooted, and both of them glanced out at the moon. Arthur sighed. "Better get started, then."

* * *

><p>An hour later, the potion was ready. Francis was exhausted; it required a lot of complicated charms, sometimes more than one at the same time, and as Arthur was brewing it fell to Francis to do the spellwork.<p>

Finished, it was a lurid blue concoction, bubbling thickly. They eyed it dubiously.

"I think that's it," Arthur said. "Flask?"

Francis handed him a vial, and Arthur scooped up a measure of the potion and picked up his wand.

"Wait!" Francis caught his hand. "I'll take it."

"No way in hell," Arthur said. "We don't know if it'll work. I'm the one who got you into this; I'll get you out of it."

Francis glared at him. "I'm not letting you risk your life. I'll do it."

"Oh, so it's fine for you to risk yours? No. My potion, my rules."

"But -"

"Besides, my patronus is stronger. I've had years of practice communicating with Tink; you only learnt it this year."

"But -"

He touched Francis' arm gently. "Francis, it'll be fine. We'll go together, and if it doesn't look like it's working you can get me out of there, promise."

Francis sighed. "You've got that stubborn look again. You won't take no for an answer, will you?"

Arthur grinned. "You know me too well." He raised his wand._ "Expecto patronum!"_

A burst of silver light flew out of his wand, coalescing in the shape of…

"A cock?"

Arthur blinked at it. He glared at Francis. "A _rooster."_

"I thought your patronus was a rabbit?"

The glare intensified. "A hare. It is!" The rooster crowed. "Was?"

The rooster flapped through the air and landed on Francis' head.

"Patronuses can change, can't they?" Francis said haltingly. "If you…"

"Are you saying that you're a cock?" Arthur grinned.

Francis shrugged. "It is the French national animal. If it means what I think it does, I'm willing to overlook the fact that you associate me with a loud ungainly bird."

Arthur blushed. "I'm drinking the potion now," he said. He downed it and hunched over, wincing at the taste. "God that's foul…"

The patronus made a queer chirruping noise. Where it had been silver, suddenly it was shot through with a constellation of gold sparks, edged with a suffuse golden light. Arthur tilted his head at it. "That's… interesting. I suppose that means it worked?"

"Looks like. Well done, _mon cher!"_

Arthur grinned. "Couldn't have done it without you."

Now that the potion was completed, Francis found his mind turning to other things. "Since that's done, how about we set about making some more happy memories?" He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm all for consolidating your new patronus' power."

Arthur laughed and stepped closer, wrapping his arms round Francis' waist. "Francis Bonnefoy, are you propositioning me?" He murmured. "Because seriously, you need to work on your romance."

Francis shrugged. "If it ain't broke, right?"

They set about consolidating. As they lay side by side on the floor, tangled together for the aftershocks, Arthur twisted round to look up at Francis. "Once more, to be sure?"

Francis grinned. "Well, if you insist…"

* * *

><p>The next day was bright and cold, and it slipped by in what felt like the span of an hour.<p>

Before long it was nightfall. They left Libby with a Christmas turkey filched from the kitchens and made their way across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest.

In the darkness the Forest looked more foreboding than ever. The trees were tortured shapes. Wind-lashed, they stretched clawlike branches to rend the sky.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt as if the whole forest was polluted by the dementor's dark power. Fear trailed icy fingers down Francis' spine, and he shivered. Arthur bumped him with his shoulder.

He took Arthur's hand._ "Tu es prêt?"*_

Arthur gave a taut smile. "As I'll ever be."

They entered the forest.

Under the shadow of the trees, all was silence. As they went deeper, the trees seemed to crowd closer until the snarl of branches above was thick enough to block all the sky. Rather than fighting the dark, the glow from their wands seemed to be bleached by it. It was as if the darkness were alive, sapping the light and warmth from the forest.

"We're definitely getting closer," Arthur murmured.

They stumbled on. As they walked, a numbing cold settled into Francis' bones. He grasped Arthur's hand tighter, picturing his smile, his voice, the feeling of him in his arms. The freezing grip loosened, and Francis let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Too soon they were back in the clearing. The air reeked of decay. By the trees opposite them, the shadows were concentrated blacker than black. In the rest of the forest, the darkness was an absence of light; here, it was an absence of all.

The shadows shifted and swirled, and the dementor rose to greet them.

Letting go of Francis' hand, Arthur reached for his wand. _"Expecto patronus!"_

A scatter of sparks, then nothing.

The dementor hissed. Around them, the trees leant closer, and this time Francis knew he wasn't imagining it. _Dieu, it's controlling the forest itself…_

Arthur whirled and stared at Francis, eyes wide. "I… I can't…"

Francis smiled and touched his cheek, hoping his hand wasn't shaking. "You can."

Arthur gritted his teeth and turned back. _"Expecto patronus!"_

The rooster burst out of the end of his wand. Arthur grinned, gaze flickering over to Francis. "A fighting cock. It is a bit ridiculous, isn't it?"

Francis laughed. "I'm not complaining."

The dementor cowered and began retreating before the patronus' attack. Francis had a wild hope that this would all be over, that it would be this easy.

And then there was a rustle in the undergrowth, and all hell broke loose.

First it was a group of trolls, lumbering into the clearing. Arthur's patronus wavered as he spun round to look at them, concentration slipping momentarily.

"I'll handle these," Francis said. "Stay focussed! The dementor's more important."

Arthur nodded and turned his back.

A combination of _Petrificus totalus _and _Bombarda maxima _saw off most of the trolls, but there were still three more when the blast-ended skrewt careened into sight.

_"Reducto!"_ Francis called, and it exploded into messy pieces in time for the swarm of bowtruckle to attack. He used a freezing charm to stop the nearest ones - bowtruckle were renowned for their peaceable nature, and they were almost certainly only attacking in a misguided desire to protect their trees.

A huge elm tree swung its branches towards Arthur, and Francis leapt in front of him to block its path. His arm cracked against the wood; _probably broken, _he thought absently. The endorphins would take care of it for now.

Without warning a line of acromantulae scuttled into the clearing, and Francis' skin crawled. He cast _Incendio, _nodding in grim satisfaction as they sketched a line of fire across the forest floor. Most of the bowtruckles leapt back to guard their trees, but the remaining trolls stomped on unheeding.

All three of them attacked him at once in a clumsy attempt at strategy. Francis just had time to glance back at Arthur and make sure he was alright before they were on him.

Despite their stature, the trolls were surprisingly strong. One of them dived behind Francis and drove him to his knees. He lashed out with his injured arm; the blow connected with the troll's hard skull.

Sparks of pain shot round his forearm, making his head spin. He threw one of the trolls back with a hasty _Expelliarmus,_ using his other hand to scrabble in the dirt of leaves and mulch for a rock.

The rock knocked out one of the two remaining trolls, and he hit the other with _Bombarda _as it launched itself towards him. For a moment Francis crouched, waiting for another attack, but none came.

He struggled to his feet, eyes sweeping the clearing for Arthur.

When he saw him, the horror that swept over Francis was worse than anything the dementor had made him feel, an icy hand choking his heart.

Arthur was on the ground. The dementor hovered above him, and Francis could see Arthur's soul bleeding towards it.

"Arthur! _Merde," _he raised his wand but he wasn't going to be fast enough, there was no way -

Arthur's lips moved, and Francis' wand splintered in two.

Suddenly, vines were springing out of the ground, winding around Francis' legs so that he couldn't move.

Francis' heart thudded painfully. _He can do wandless magic. But why is he using it for this? _"Arthur? What are you doing! Let me _go," _but no matter how he struggled, the bindings didn't budge.

As he watched, Arthur's mouth opened. The dementor bent closer greedily, drinking in Arthur's lifeforce. Francis' stomach churned. _S__o close, but I'm helpless__…_

All at once, something shifted. Instead of Arthur's soul, silver light flecked through with gold poured into the dementor. _The patronus._

The dementor choked and tried to draw back, but Arthur's hand shot forwards, grabbing it so it couldn't move. Gradually, the gaunt black form filled with gold and silver light.

And then it vanished.

The bonds restraining Francis fell away from him, and he ran to where Arthur lay. His eyes were tight shut and his forehead wrinkled in pain. He wasn't moving. When Francis took his wrist, the pulse that beat was weak and fluttery as a bird's.

"Arthur, no, you can't. Stop it! Come back, you can't… _Dieu_, Arthur! _Je t'aime!_"

Arthur's eyes cracked open. His lips moved, and Francis bent to catch the words.

"I'm sorry, Francis. I don't feel the same. I could never love you."

He closed his eyes again after that. Francis was hollow, scooped out. But he wouldn't let Arthur die.

He slid his arms round Arthur's frame, trying to lift him. His broken arm refused to cooperate, and Arthur had snapped his wand. Frustration gnawed at his belly. Francis tried again and failed again to lift Arthur.

A smooth white muzzle appeared in his peripheral vision. Francis spun round, mind whirring as he prepared to attack. When he realised what was there, he froze.

It was a unicorn.

Francis caught his breath. He'd seen the dead unicorn, and even in its suffering its beauty had shone through. This, however, was completely different.

The unicorn was pure ivory white, a colour to shame the snow. Its mane and tail flowed like liquid mercury, and its graceful form was limned with a silver glow.

With movements smooth as silk, the unicorn gently pushed Francis out of the way. It touched the tip of its horn to Arthur's brow, and immediately Arthur's expression smoothed into contentment.

Another unicorn appeared, as breathtaking as the last. It knelt beside Arthur, and the first unicorn nudged him with its muzzle. He stirred but didn't move.

Francis bent and manoeuvred his friend onto the unicorn's back. The unicorn rose to its feet.

For a moment they stared at each other. "Am I imagining this?" Francis asked. "Have I gone insane?"

The unicorn looked at him silently.

Francis laughed. "Asking a hallucination whether it's real. I really have gone mad…"

The unicorn turned. It glanced back at him and flicked its silver tail silently. _Are you coming?_

Together, they made their way back to the castle.

* * *

><p><em>* "Tu es prêt?" - <em>Are you ready?

The trolls Francis fights are forest trolls, which are much smaller than the mountain troll that features in _The Philosopher's Stone. _They're only about four feet tall. (In my headcanon.)

To anyone reading this who doesn't know, your patronus can occasionally change form to reflect the person you love.

Review? :3


	18. Chapter Fourteen

When Arthur woke, his first thought was confusion.

Presumably, he qualified for heaven - he hadn't fucked up too much in his eighteen years, and surely dying to save the lives of a bunch of freakin' unicorns got him a pass through the pearly gates? But there seemed to be rather too much pain for that - and then the white world around him resolved into the Hogwarts hospital wing, and with a shock Arthur Kirkland realised that he was in fact very much alive.

Pain meds were scrambling his brain.

"Fuck and buggering shit," he said.

There was a crash and a yelp as Gil jerked awake and toppled out of his chair. His head popped up over the edge of the mattress, red eyes wide as he stared at Arthur. "Artie! You're up!"

"Yeah - how long have I been - _ouch!"_ Arthur rubbed his jaw, smarting from Gil's punch. "What in the name of arse was that for?"

Gil crushed him in a hug. "Sorry mate, but really it's my duty to deck you for being such a twat. Nearly got yourself killed! You'd be dead if not for some sick unicorn mojo."

Arthur frowned. "Huh?"

"I wish I could claim credit, but you're only alive thanks to the incredible healing powers of the unicorn," Madame Pomfrey said. She pressed a vial into his hand. "However, you're still not shipshape, so drink up! And Gilbert Beilschmidt, if I ever see you behave in such a manner towards one of my patients again you will be banned from this hospital wing."

Gil grinned. "Sorry, Poppy. Have to admit though, he deserved it."

Arthur choked down the potion, grimacing at the flavour. As soon as he'd finished Pomfrey bustled off to her next patient. He turned to Gil. "Is Francis around?"

"Poppy kicked him out three days ago - the smell was getting too bad. He was here all the time - it was sickening, really."

Arthur bit back a smile. He frowned. "Wait, three days ago? So how long have I been out?"

"A week - it's Saturday right now." He cast a tempus charm. "Seven o'clock, PM."

"A _week?"_

"Yeah mate. You've missed over thirty meals!"

"Twenty one, Gil - really, if your maths is worse than someone who's just been brought back from the brink you should definitely start to worry."

Gil looked shocked. "Jeez Artie, you're only counting three meals a day. Now who should be worried?"

Arthur laughed. "You animal. So, not that I'm not loving your company, but - Francis?"

"Oh, course! He's probably moping around outside - two secs."

Gil leapt up and sprinted off. When he returned, Francis wasn't the only person in tow - Elizabeta, Kiku, Antonio, Lovino, and Al rushed in too. And on second glance Arthur caught sight of Mattie grinning, hand held tightly in Gil's.

Francis was there first and Arthur took his hand, skimming his thumb across Francis' skin to memorise again its softness. "Hey, Francis."

Francis' gaze was focussed on Arthur's hand, eyes wide and wondering as if he couldn't believe Arthur was awake. _"Comme je suis heureux de te voir, mon cher."*_

Lovino's greeting to Arthur came in the form of a book flung at his head (Francis caught it before it broke Arthur's nose) and a stream of what Arthur presumed were curses in rapid-fire italian. "Fucker!" He said, rounding off in English. "You don't get to decide to die, _capisci? _I need someone sane round here."

Arthur read the title of the book, grinning. It was a copy of _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, _a book he'd had his eye on a while now. "Cheers! Nice wrapping, by the way."

Lovino scowled, jerking his thumb at Gil. "That shit you call a friend opened all your presents."

"You got some good stuff! Really tasty."

"_Désolé_, _mon cher - _I've failed in my duty to protect your gifts."

Al brandished an empty box of sugar quills mournfully. "He ate them. He ate them all."

"Don't worry about it, Al. Happens every year - by this point I've given up on ever receiving my presents when Gil's on scene."

Al frowned at Gil, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'll avenge you on the Quidditch pitch, Arthur - I'll beat Slytherin for sure!"

"It's the price of a friendship with pure awesome. Oh, and most of your Get Well Soon chocolate's gone."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at Gil. "I assume you're using 'most' as a synonym for 'all'. Far be it from you to exercise self-restraint on the presents of your coma-bound best friend."

"Oh darling, you know me so well. Almost as well as I know you - prepare yourself for the best present ever." Reaching under the bed, Gil produced a huge vat of Dragon Barrel Brandy. On the crate the word 'FLY' was scribbled in Gil's spider-scrawl beside the word 'Dragon'. He tapped it. _Libby. _"We'll talk about that later, Artie."

Arthur glanced at Francis, who shrugged. "Needed an accomplice, and he suspected."

Elizabeta's saucepan made an appearance. "Out of the way, Gil - stop monopolising Arthur!" Shoving him out the way, she offered Arthur an envelope and a charming smile. "These are from me and Lilli. I think you'll enjoy them," she winked.

Inside the envelope was a stack of photos. The top one was an image of Francis. Judging from the rivulets of water running down his torso and into the towel round his hips, he'd just stepped out the shower.

When he saw it, Francis yelped. "That - that's from before the Yule Ball! When Lilli said, 'Like I'd waste my film on that!' Where did she hide the camera?"

Elizabeta smiled. "A lady never shares her secrets."

Pomfrey materialised, piercing voice cutting over their chatter. "Why are there _eight_ of you crowding around my patient? Arthur needs rest at the moment! Shoo! Two visitors _maximum._"

Gil pouted. "But _Poppy -"_

"No whining, or I'll cut it down to one!"

"That's hardly fair on me, is it?" Arthur spluttered.

"I can't treat you if I have a headache from all this racket. Out!"

Before he left, Kiku pressed a gift into Arthur's hands, beautifully wrapped in tissue paper. "For tomorrow," he smiled. "If you're well enough."

"Thank you!"

"What's tomorrow?" Francis asked.

"Sunday - afternoon tea at four o'clock," Gil replied. "Why d'you think I didn't open that one? It's gotta be tea."

Gil was right - it was a first flush Darjeeling, one of Arthur's favourite teas. Gil wrinkled his nose at it. "Of all your hobbies, drinking tea has got to be the weirdest."

"Thank you, Gil. After all, your approval is what I look for in everything."

"Speaking of approval - just in case you didn't get the memo, I am totally cool with this." He waved his hand at Arthur and Francis. "And now that Christmas is over, feel free to get down to this." He made a rude gesture, leering at them.

"Oh my god," Arthur groaned. "On that note, you're banished from my bedside."

"I see where your mind's going," Gil winked. "And because I am a fantastic friend, I will let you two have some privacy."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Christ, it's not like we're gonna get it on right here!"

Gil laughed and sprang off the bed. "No need to hide it from me, we all know about your exhibitionist streak!" He cackled, racing out the hospital wing before Arthur could respond.

"Don't know why we keep him…" Arthur muttered. He turned to Francis. "Sorry. There's something I have to explain to you -"

But before Arthur could get any further Pomfrey reappeared. "I'm afraid you can't stay, Francis. Arthur has visitors."

Arthur frowned. "Could you possibly ask them to come back later?"

She shook her head. "They're from the Ministry. They're aurors - they want to talk to you about the dementor."

* * *

><p>The two aurors stood at the foot of his bed. One was bulky as a tree trunk and stood at military ease, violet eyes fixed on Arthur. The other was more slight. He wore his dark hair in a ponytail, and his smile was broad.<p>

"Nice to meet you, aru. My name is Yao, and this is my partner -"

"Braginsky." The tall man shifted. "We have some questions."

Arthur sighed. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

><p>An hour later, the aurors were out of questions and Arthur's voice was hoarse from talking. Once or twice he'd almost let slip about Libby; luckily the aurors were too focussed on the dementor to notice.<p>

Yao snapped his fingers and his quill stopped jotting and leapt into his pocket. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr Kirkland."

"We'll be in touch if there's anything else," Braginsky said.

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes and pasted on his very best smile. "May I ask how it happened? The dementor, I mean. How did it escape, what with the Ministry's heightened security?"

Braginsky smiled sweetly. "None of your concern, _da?"_

Yao sighed. "I'm afraid it's sensitive information."

"Do you really think you can keep this out the papers for long? The Prophet's gonna be all over it. If you give me the details, maybe I'll sign a confidentiality agreement, refuse to give them an interview. If not - well, I'm sure they'd love to hear about my near-death experience and speculate about the escape."

By this point a palpable aura of violence enveloped Braginsky. Arthur sensed another near-death experience was imminent.

Yao intervened. He took a form and a quill out of his pocket and handed them to Arthur. "Do you always keep these things in your pockets?"

"Most of the time, aru." Yao glanced over the signed confidentiality agreement and explained. "It was an experiment. The Unspeakables were given free reign. The one who committed the crime has been dealt with and the study shut down."

It wasn't as much detail as he would have liked, but it was enough. Arthur had more important things to do than to satisfy his curiosity.

The auror's departure left Arthur to stew in his thoughts. He thought of the fight, forcing the dementor back. He thought of the cold press of the dementor as it fed on his happiness.

And other things, too - flashes of memory that made him wince. Shackling Francis to the ground. Snapping his wand. Lying to him, and the hurt in Francis' expression.

A few minutes after they left, Francis came in. This time, he was alone. There was a tightness round his eyes there hadn't been before - or had Arthur just not noticed?

When Francis smiled, it didn't meet his eyes. "You wanted to explain?"

"Yeah." Arthur swallowed. "And, um. I wanted to apologise."

The curve of Francis' lips was a concrete smile, fixed and lifeless. "What for?"

"Well, I broke your wand, for one thing. Plus I tied you up."

"And not in the fun way," Francis joked. He beamed. "So is that it, then?"

"No. There's something I need to explain."

Francis' eyes dimmed.

"You know I didn't mean it, right?" Arthur babbled. "What I said? It's just, at the time I kinda thought I was going to die, and I thought if you thought I was a dick to you, you'd get over it more quickly. So I wasn't actually telling the truth - you get that, right?"

Francis let out an immense sigh and buried his head in his hands. Arthur twisted his hands in the hospital blankets, waiting.

When Francis raised his head, he was grinning. "_Mon dieu, _Arthur, you scared me! Don't sound so serious - I worked out that was what you meant. At the time, I was, how shall I say, a bit down about it -"

"I'll say. Your face was awful!"

"- but Gil and Tonio made me think about it, and I guessed it would be something like that."

"Oh." Arthur frowned. "That's not good. I mean, it doesn't bode well for you moving on if this happens again."

Francis leaned very close and gave Arthur his most charming grin. His eyes were daggers. "Then I suppose we shall have to make sure it does not, _oui?"_

"I wasn't planning on making a habit out of it!" Arthur protested.

"You have a lot of grovelling to do, _mon cher,"_ Francis growled._ "_I hate to sound possessive, but it can't be helped - you're _mine_, and that means you can't die."

Arthur slipped his arms round Francis' neck, tugging him onto the bed beside him and closing his eyes. "Good thing I didn't, right?"

"I think you're missing the point."

"Mmm." Arthur yawned. "You can explain it again in the morning."

He drifted off to the warmth of Francis' arms and the whisper of Francis' breath against the nape of his neck.

* * *

><p>It was three days before he was allowed out of the hospital wing, and Arthur could've cried at the sight of his own bed.<p>

Once Arthur had dropped his things back to his dorm, he, Gil, and Francis made their way to the Room of Requirement to visit Libby.

In the time since he'd last seen her, Libby had extensively exploited the wish-fulfilment potential of the Room of Requirement; it was a sybarite's paradise. Jewels lay in scattered heaps and pieces of eight spilled from iron-bound chests. Libby herself sprawled snoozing on a pile of finely-woven silks, their colours bright against her glossy scales. A tiara dangled from one ear, and rings and bangles stacked her limbs.

"Going for the cliché of the dragon's hoard, I see."

At his voice Libby's head jerked up, tiara clattering to the floor as she flung herself at him and crashed into his arms. "Arthur! You're here! I've missed you!"

"Missed you too! You've grown so much since last time I saw you. What have you been up to?"

"Francis is teaching me how to cook and Gil is teaching me about pirates - I mean, broadening my perspectives on sociocultural interpretations of the law."

Arthur turned to glare at Gil, who quickly stopped giving her the thumbs-up. "Are you corrupting my ward? And Francis, if you _dare _say anything about how even a dragon can cook better than me I swear -"

"What do you mean, _even_ a dragon?" Francis said. "That phrasing implies dragons are somehow inferior in the culinary arts."

Libby's head swivelled round and she narrowed her eyes at Arthur in a way that signified he should choose his words carefully.

"Not having opposable thumbs could be seen as a disadvantage but I'm sure a dragon's flame-breathing capacity would be excellent for chargrilling, amongst other things. Numerous other things," he added, and Libby nodded, satisfied.

"Where is friend Gilbird?" She asked. "I have been informed that a pirate - I mean, an alternative seaman - requires a feathered companion. He is my second in command."

Hearing his name, Gilbird cheeped and leapt into the air, racing off with Libby.

Gilbert sprung into action, snatching up a tin sword and brandishing it in the air. _"En garde,_ alternative seamen! I shall conquer you and purloin your treasure. Also, the word is quartermaster, not second in command."

For a few minutes Arthur and Francis watched them fight. Gil was feigning weakness so as not to hurt Libby; the dragon, however, seemed to have no such qualms. Francis winced as flame blossomed, singeing Gil's hair.

"I -" Arthur started, biting his tongue when he realised what he'd been about to say. _I wonder if this is how domesticity feels. _Despite Arthur's own feelings for Francis, the 'd' word was probably too strong for Francis. He wasn't a relationship person - neither of them were - and making things too serious too quick couldn't end well.

"I…?" Francis said, squeezing his hand.

"Got you a Christmas present," he said instead, heading to the cupboard where he'd stored it. When he turned back round Francis was in front of him, a parcel in his outstretched hands.

Francis laughed. "You didn't think I forgot, did you?"

When he unwrapped the first edition copy of _L'écume des jours, _Arthur's present to Francis suddenly felt insignificant.

_"Mon dieu, _Arthur!" Francis ran his hands over the fabric. His eyes met Arthur's. "Did you knit this?"

"Yeah - but how on earth did you _find_ this?" Arthur caught his breath as he ran his fingers over pages soft and thick as cream.

"I have my sources." Francis looped the scarf round his neck, smiling. "Blue and green - Ravenclaw and Slytherin, right?"

An almighty crash as Gil tripped on a cushion and hurtled to the floor snapped their conversation. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Better make sure he's okay."

"Just like having a toddler," Francis said as they picked their way over to their friend.

"A toddler wouldn't be this bad."

* * *

><p>Eventually Libby's energy reserves were drained, and even Gil was flagging. Leaving Libby snoring on her silken throne they left the Room of Requirement.<p>

Gil rushed off to find Mattie so Arthur and Francis wandered to the kitchen in search of tea, chatting to the house-elves until they were all yawning.

Eventually they headed back to the Ravenclaw dorm. Side by side they flopped onto Arthur's bed.

"Can't believe everything that's happened."

"I know. I haven't even been a year in England, but it feels like a lifetime."

"You're staying here, right? You're not going back to France?"

"Are you worried, _mon cher?"_

Arthur scowled and thumped him. "Dick. You know I am."

Francis turned to face him, gaze burning. Arthur's eyes stayed fixed on the drapes above. "What you staring at, Frog?"

"Can't I stare?" Francis' voice fell to a murmur. He pressed his nose to Arthur's neck. "I nearly lost you. I still can't believe how lucky I am to have you with me, let alone to hear you admit you'd miss me."

"Don't be corny without warning," Arthur mumbled. His heart raced a rhythm, thrilling in spite of himself. "That sort of thing - you're not supposed to say it _out loud_."

"But I like saying it. Besides," Francis poked his cheek, grinning. "You look very cute when you blush."

Arthur groaned. "Why does it feel like I've made a mistake?"

"Too late!" Francis sang, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "No take-backs. You're stuck with me."

He twisted round to look at Francis, studying his face; the blue of his eyes, and the soft curve of his mouth, curling into a smile that tugged up the corners of Arthur's own mouth. "I think there are worse places to be."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Notes:<strong>_

_"Comme je suis heureux de te voir." - _How happy I am to see you.

The Prophet, or The Daily Prophet, is an extremely popular and somewhat unscrupulous wizarding newspaper.

At this point we have reached the end! I want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, or enjoyed the fic, and please accept my apologies for the awfully slow updates!

There may be an **epilogue**, because this feels slightly unfinished. So if you have this on alert you may not want to take it off just yet.

Concrit is as ever appreciated!


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